


Dear Soldier

by Aprilhw3



Series: Dear Soldier [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Men in uniform, Sergeant Sandor, Wounded Soldiers, songbird Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aprilhw3/pseuds/Aprilhw3
Summary: No family and no friends outside his unit...until he was adopted by a lovely grade school music teacher and her students.No one ever wrote him a letter...until they sent him handmade cards and care packages.No one to welcome him home...until his little bird was there waiting for him.No one to love until he looked into the bluest eyes he ever saw.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Series: Dear Soldier [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833649
Comments: 412
Kudos: 506





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of a story I’m currently working on. It may be a couple weeks until The next update.

**Chapter One**

**Meereenese Hinterlands, Slaver’s Bay, Essos**

A bullet whizzed past Sandor Clegane’s head so close that he felt the air stir against his unscarred cheek. At the sound of the dull thwap as it hit the ruined wall of the hut behind him, he instinctively crouched against the wall and swept the scope of his rifle along the tree line of a nearby ridge. His vision was hampered by the thick black smoke spewing from the wreckage of the Humvee and supply truck that only minutes before had been leading a military convoy through the war torn region. Now they lay on their sides, warped and scorched by the rocket-propelled grenades that had destroyed them. The remaining vehicles in the convoy had pulled off the road and were taking heavy fire from insurgents on both sides of the roadway.

The sun beat down relentlessly on his back, and, beneath the Kevlar vest and camo jacket, his T-shirt clung damply to his body. Sweat trickled into his eyes. He blinked it away, not taking his gaze from the sniper scope mounted on top of his rifle.

For most of the week he had lain concealed on a rocky ledge a mile from the remote village where intel said The Sons of the Harpy were planning another attack against Westerosi forces. He and his spotter had slept in shifts, barely eaten, and after five days of hyper-vigilant surveillance—with no sign of insurgency— they had received word that the intel had been false. They’d been extracted from the region by a special ops contingent and had been traveling back to their operating base when they had made a detour to provide security to the supply convoy. They’d heard the explosions and had seen the smoke just before reaching the scene.

Sandor couldn’t believe how completely they had been suckered. The local military, with whom they had spent countless weeks training, had provided them with the intel about the insurgents. While they had been focusing their attention on that village, the real enemy had been planning their attack along this lonely stretch of road. Sandor didn’t know if the false intel had been deliberate or not, but it didn’t matter. They’d fucked up, and now Westerosi troops were getting killed.

The local military had likely been infiltrated. This didn’t come as a surprise, but Sandor couldn’t help but wonder which of the men was responsible. He’d come to know many of them personally, and the realization that one of them had betrayed the Westerosi soldiers—betrayed him—infuriated him.

“Otherfucking son of a woods witch,” spat the man who crouched next to Sandor, peering through a large spotter’s scope. “If we had intercepted the convoy just ten minutes sooner, that could have been our Humvee in the lead.”

“Yeah, well, timing is fucking everything,” Sandor growled. “Just keep your head low. We’ve only got two weeks left in this sandbox, and then we’re outta here. Try not to fuck it up by getting your head blown off.”

Just fourteen more days and then this tour would be complete and he’d be on his way home, far away from this blistering hellshole where he’d delivered death to the enemy more times than he cared to recall. With 86 confirmed kills over the course of four separate tours, Sandor was well on his way to becoming a legend within the Marine scout sniper community.

But he didn’t want to be a legend; he just wanted to finish this tour, go home and try to build a new life. After twelve years of service to his country, he was ready for something new. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t want to be a soldier. As a young boy, he’d dreamed of exciting, courageous battles. He would play with his little army men for hours...that is, until his cunt of a brother saw his own toys, discarded and long since forgotten, mixed in with Sandor’s and flown into a rage. Gregor had effortlessly picked up his little brother by the front of his tshirt, dragged him across the room and held his face against the grate in the fireplace. Gods, he could still hear his own desperate high pitched screams, could still smell the sickening scent of his own charred flesh. When his father died and left him alone with his brutal brother, who was responsible for so many of his scars, he knew it was time to escape...or die. So he had enlisted in the military right out of high school. He’d excelled at everything the Westeros Royal Marine Corps threw at him, but found his real skill lay in his deadly accuracy behind the trigger. The military had honed that skill to perfection, but Sandor knew that sniping had as much to do with observing and reporting as it had with shooting at a target. He didn’t just randomly shoot people; he carefully selected his targets before firing upon them.

He’d never had a problem executing the mission, and he’d never lost a minute of fucking sleep over it, either. He firmly believed that killing the enemy before they had an opportunity to do harm was the sweetest thing there was. He’d known men who couldn’t kill a target because they’d become too emotionally attached to the subject. Sometimes, after days of observing a person—of watching them eat, breathe and laugh—a sniper might feel an emotional connection to the target and be unable to kill them when the call came.

Sandor didn’t worry about that happening to him. Just the opposite, in fact. He felt so little emotion about what he did as a sniper that he sometimes wondered how difficult adjusting to life after active duty would be.

He wanted a job where he wasn’t forever chafing from sand in his Gods damned shorts and boots. He wanted to sleep late on the weekends. He wanted to take his bike for a cruise along the coast and feel the cool breeze of the Narrow Sea on his face. He wanted to cook a steak the size of the Iron-fucking-Islands on the grill and drink a cold beer whenever he liked.

But most of all, he wanted to finally meet the lovely Sansa Stark, his little songbird. The pretty elementary school music teacher had been sending him care packages for nearly a year and a half as part of an adopt-a-soldier program. He’d never even met Sansa, but her sweet letters and photos made him miss home in a way that he never had before. Her warm humor and detailed descriptions of even the most mundane tasks left him grinning like a fucking idiot long after he tucked the letters safely away.

But it was the personal stuff she shared with him that made him long to get back to meet her. She’d only recently moved to Maidenpool from Wintertown in the North, and despite the upbeat letters, her homesickness was a palpable thing. He found himself impatient to get home to ease her loneliness. He wanted to be with Sansa more than he’d ever wanted anything else. He wanted to spend time with her and get to know everything there was to know about her...from how she took her coffee to how she looked in the morning with sleepy eyes and a soft smile after a night of very thorough lovemaking . Oh, yeah, he’d been packing some serious heat for Sansa Stark since she’d first written to him.

Her letters had started out innocently enough. Bronn’s wife, Margaery had enlisted several of her fellow teachers to a correspondence program with the men from his unit and she had informed him that she and some of her students had adopted him. She had thanked him for his service and asked if there was anything he particularly wanted or needed. He’d thumbed through the handmade cards and notes until he’d found a picture of her standing with a group of young children in her classroom. All he could think was that his own elementary school teachers had never looked like her. And a good thing, too, or he might never have made it to middle school.

In the eighteen months they’d been corresponding, Sandor had slowly been able to open up to her through letters and emails. He told her about his childhood, his scars and the numerous surgeries and countless hours alone—hurting and scared—in the Brotherhood Without Banners Pediatric Burn Unit to repair his mangled face as much as possible. He told her that it was his own brother who had done it, and that their father had covered it up. She told him of her own abuse at the hands of a sadistic ex-boyfriend. She sang to him and sent him YouTube links to the school concerts she organized. They told each other of their loneliness and their hopes that they could soon meet in person.

Through all their letters, her one consistent message had been to take care of himself, to come home safely. She worried about him—him—a man she’d never even met. He’d never had anyone who gave two pinches of white dog shit about him. How would she feel if something did happen to him? Would she grieve for him? Lately, she’d been finishing her letters with “P.S. I can’t wait for you to come home!” Maybe he’d spent too much time in the sun, or maybe he was going soft, but he couldn’t prevent his imagination from conjuring sappy images of just how she might greet him. She gave him a whole new reason to come home in one piece.

A year ago, Sansa signed her letter with a postscript with her number. During that first phone call, they’d immediately clicked, and fifteen minutes had never gone by so fast. There hadn’t been any awkward silences, only a sense of disappointment that they couldn’t talk longer. After that, Sandor called any time communications were available in camp, always late at night for her.

Three weeks ago, in anticipation of his return, he’d taken a huge chance and asked Sansa to meet him at a hotel in Dorne for the week. He hoped she hadn’t heard the desperation in his voice when he’d made the proposition during a brief phone call; he’d tried to sound nonchalant about it. No pressure, and she could say no and he’d be fine with it.

Which had been a complete fucking lie.

To his immense relief, Sansa had actually agreed to meet him at an oceanfront hotel in Sunspear. The room rate had been astronomical, but Sandor didn’t give a fuck. What else did he have to spend his money on? He wanted to make Sansa feel special. Hells, she was special, and he was looking forward to getting to know her better. He’d even sleep at the marine base if she didn’t want him staying with her. He just knew he couldn’t wait until he returned to Maidenpool to finally meet her. There was a part of him that suspected he shouldn’t have such strong feelings for a woman he’d never even met, but he didn’t care. He knew they were real.

Now he fixed his eye to the telescopic sight of his rifle and carefully scanned the ridge on the far side of the convoy. “There,” he muttered in satisfaction, spotting movement among the trees. “Target,” he called quietly.

“Target,” replied Bronn. He peered through the large spotter scope he carried.

“Sector A from TRP 1, right 50, add 50.”

“Roger,” Sandor replied and repeated the coordinates back to his partner as he adjusted the scope on his sniper rifle. The sporadic sound of machine-gun fire from the battle didn’t distract him. Nothing short of a direct hit would break his concentration. All that mattered was the target. Eventually, the insurgent would make an attempt to fire his weapon and when he did, Sandor would be waiting. Even the punishing sun that beat down on his back didn’t faze him.

“Lone soldier behind the tree, rifle in right hand,” Bronn said quietly.

Sandor peered through the scope at the man who had emerged from behind a tree to focus his weapon on a marine who was attempting to drag a wounded soldier to safety.

“Roger. Target identified,” Sandor confirmed, lining him up in his crosshairs. “He’s drawing down on one of our men.”

“Dial 500 on the gun,” Bronn directed.

“Roger, 500 on the gun. Gun up!”

“Send it.”

With steady hands, Sandor deliberately squeezed the trigger at the same instant the target fired his own weapon at the soldier struggling to drag the body of a fellow soldier to safety.

Bam!

Immediately and without looking away from the sighting, Sandor chambered another round. Through the telescopic sight, he saw the target go down.

“Center hit,” Bronn called, as he followed the bullet’s vapor trail.  
“Stand by.”

The pitiful shriek of a crying child reached him, and Sandor huffed out a breath of annoyance as his fingers flexed around the bolt handle of the rifle. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension. “Roger, center hit, stand by.”

“Confirmed hit. Target destroyed.”

“Roger that.” Sandor swept his scope back to the soldier who had been attempting to rescue his comrade and swore as he saw both soldiers lying motionless on the ground. He closed his eyes briefly in regret, but when he opened them again, he saw the second soldier slowly raise his head and it seemed to Sandor that he looked directly at him. The soldier glanced down at the front of his uniform and when he pressed a hand against his shoulder, Sandor saw blood seep through his fingers. “That fucking cunt got him.”

Sandor swept his scope across the immediate area, prepared to cover the soldier should he come under attack again. Despite his injury, he managed to grab the other soldier’s flak jacket and drag him to safety. Only when he had reached the relative shelter of the trucks did Sandor pull his gaze away from his scope. He rolled onto his side, swiping a hand across his eyes to ease the strain. The pitiful wailing of the child continued.

“Fucking Hells, where is that kid?” he snarled, because as much as he wished otherwise, the persistent crying did distract him.

“Ah, damn,” Bronn muttered as he inched his head around the edge of the wall to survey the destruction below. “There’s a kid in the road, right in the middle of the fucking firefight.”

Sandor craned his head over the low wall to peek at the dusty road. A swift glance told him that this was no kid; this was a baby, sitting in the dirt about a hundred yards away. Sandor used his rifle scope to survey the surrounding area. No fucking way the insurgents would use a child to lure the marines into the open. Would they?

Sandor had seen a lot of twisted things during all his tours in Meereen, but something that sick would definitely take the cake. He swept his scope over the tiny village that lay beyond the battle. A woman stood in the doorway of a small house, her face contorted in fear and grief. Two local men physically restrained her from running to the child.

“Well, shit.” He pushed himself away from the ruined wall and bent low. “Cover me,” he called.

“Hound!” shouted Bronn, and made a grab for Sandor, but missed. “We only got two weeks left and you, my friend, are a big fucking target!”

“It’s not my time,” Sandor flung back. Bent over, he sprinted along the low ridge that paralleled the road, keeping an eye on the crudely dug trench where a dozen or more insurgents still fired at the convoy. They didn’t see him until he was almost level with them. One man stood up to take aim at him, but was immediately felled by a single bullet, courtesy of Bronn.

Sandor veered sharply as two more insurgents stood up. He’d left his sniper rifle by the wall as it wasn’t any good for close combat, so he jerked his pistol from its holster and swept the area with a spray of bullets, not waiting to see if he’d hit his targets.

He reached the nearest truck and flung himself behind it, peering through the dust and smoke as he regained his bearings. Two marines lay on their bellies in the dirt beneath the truck, firing toward the ridge, while a third provided cover. When Sandor pointed toward the child, the third soldier gave him a thumbs-up and shifted his position to provide additional cover.

Sandor made his way along the line of trucks until, finally, nothing stood between himself and the child except twenty yards of open, unprotected road. Sitting in the dirt, wearing only a grimy tunic, was a dark haired little girl. Sandor guessed her to be no more than two years old.

Holstering his pistol, he made a run for the kid. A bullet hit the ground near his feet, sending a spray of dirt and rock upward. He flung up an arm to cover his face, but he didn’t stop. Bending low, he scooped the terrified toddler into his arms and then continued his sprint toward the hut where the child’s mother watched with a mixture of hope and horror on her face.

Reaching the house, Sandor thrust the child into the outstretched arms of the woman, just as something hit the back of his head with enough force to propel him through the open door of the hut. He did a sliding face-plant along the dirt floor, his body curiously boneless. He was only dimly aware that his helmet had come off and had landed beside him. He watched, detached, as it spun crazily on the hard-packed floor until it came to a stop just inches from his face.

Sandor struggled to focus.

Taped to the inside of the helmet was a photograph of a young woman. Her skimpy pink tank top clung to her curves and outlined softly rounded breasts. The smile on her face suggested she was well aware of how her nipples thrust against the thin fabric, and that she enjoyed the reaction it caused. Of all the photos that Sansa had sent to him, Sandor liked this one the best.

He blinked as something warm and wet trickled into his eyes, and his mouth was filled with the metallic taste of blood. Darkness fluttered at the edge of his vision.

He frowned. There was something not quite right about the photo. What was wrong with it? His vision blurred and he squinted hard. Then he saw it; the photo was splattered with blood. His blood. Ah, damn.

His last thought was that now he’d never get to meet pretty Sansa Stark. He’d never have the opportunity to wake up to sleepy blue eyes and a soft smile. Then darkness descended and he knew nothing more.


	2. The beginning of a beautiful...something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since I’m still editing the next chapter (Sansa POV), I figured I would post a little of their first contact. The story doesn’t focus much on the actual correspondence, mostly just snippets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see Marge as the Godmother of the matchmaking mafia...trying to hook up some of her single teacher friends with lonely soldiers. SanSan is obviously my fave...but I’d love to see someone take the concept and run with it. Can’t you just see a crazy 4th grade teacher named Tormund, that all the kids love, matched up with the no-nonsense but honorable Lt. Tarth?? Or maybe the distinguished, straight-laced Principle Stannis matched up with venerable Captain Seaworth?
> 
> Btw, if anyone is interested in adopting a soldier, you can sign up at soldiersangels.com. My family adopted a soldier a few years ago and it was really fun. We sent letters and care packages, and still keep in touch.

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

Dear Soldier,

My name is Sansa. I’m a music teacher at Mooten Elementary in Maidenpool. I hope it’s ok that I got your address from Margaery. She started a correspondence program at school for your unit. She said a lot of the guys don’t get much mail, and even fewer care packages. 

When I asked what to send, Marge told me that the quickest way to a soldier’s heart is with junk food and porn. I’m 90% certain that she was joking about the porn, but with Marge, you never know. I hope the junk food and homemade cookies will suffice. You’ll have to let me know. 😉 The kids have gathered some things that may be of use to you. I’m also sending some magazines, toiletries and a picture of us. Is there anything in particular that you’d like us to send?

Thank you so much for your service. We appreciate you!

Sansa Stark  
#7 Trident Ln.  
Maidenpool, Riverlands, Westeros 

littlebird @westnet.com

  
━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

To: littlebird@westnet.com  
From: thehound@wrmc.mil

  
Dear Sansa,

please call me Sandor or Hound.

Thank you for the care package. It’s the first I’ve ever received.

I was trained that the quickest way to a soldier’s heart is a .300 round from an m4 rifle, but junk food is a close second. Send more of those lemon cookies and my heart is all yours. As for the porn, don’t worry about that. I was able to trade 3 of those cookies, some beef jerky and a bar of soap for part of RedViper’s porn stash. 😉

Magazines, workout DVDs, and junk food would be appreciated. A decent razor would be nice, if it’s not too much trouble. Anything homemade is solid gold.

  
GySgt Sandor Clegane

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

  
To: thehound@wrmc.mil  
From: littlebird@westnet.com

  
Sandor,

Hound? RedViper? Huh?

I was your first?! I’m honored. I moved from Winterfell not long ago, so I haven’t made many friends here yet. It gets a bit lonely at times, so expect regular deliveries of letters and packages!

You traded my cookies for porn?! I don’t know how I feel about that. Was it good porn, at least?

It’s no trouble at all, I’ll send another package soon. 😊

  
Sansa

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

  
  
To: littlebird@westnet.com   
From: thehound@wrmc.mil

  
Sansa,

Hound is my radio call sign. RedViper is my buddy Oberyn’s.

So, why little bird?

I saw your picture. A girl like you won’t be lonely for long. 

Um...is there  _ bad _ porn? I got a killer deal. I’m an excellent haggler.

GySgt Sandor Clegane

  
━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

  
To: thehound@wrmc.mil  
From: littlebird@westnet.com

Sandor,

Little bird because I sing...and I’m a music teacher 😉

Sansa   
  


━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

  
  
To: littlebird @westnet.com

From: thehound@wrmc.mil

Sansa,

Well, that can be your own call sign, Little Bird.

Sandor

  
━━━━༺❀༻━━━━  
  
  
  



	3. Home front

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV

_Three weeks ago_

_“So...Sansa…” Sandor croaked out nervously, clearing his throat, “you probably saw it on the news already, but we’re handing the reins over to the Meereenese government. My unit will be in the first wave of withdrawals. We’re coming home in 3 weeks.”_

_He felt as if a heavy weight was lifted from his chest when he heard a gasp and then a happy, high-pitched squeal from the other end of the line._

_“Oh, Gods! Oh, Gods! I can’t believe we finally get to meet!” Sansa said in a sing-song voice._

_Sandor heard a tap-tap-tap keeping time with her huffed breaths from her end and asked, “You’re jumping up and down, aren’t you?”_

_“Yup!” She said with a giggle. He struggled to stifle his own laugh in front of the other men._

_“I have something I want to...” he started, then suddenly snarled hatefully, “back off you bald cunt! I’ll be done when I’m done!”_

_“Uh...Sandor?” Sansa said timidly._

_“Sorry, everyone is trying to call home and they’re getting antsy. Anyway, I have something I want to ask you. It’s alright if you’re not comfortable with it, you can say no and I’ll understand. We’re coming in through Dorne and have to stay a couple weeks before our tour is officially completed. I’d love for you to meet me there and spend the week together. What do you say?” He said in a rush._

_“Yesssssssssss!”_

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━  
  
Present day

It would officially be the most impulsive thing that “Sensible Sansa” had ever done in her entire life. It went beyond crazytown, straight into off-the-map nutso. What kind of woman would fly clear across the country to spend a week with a man she’d never even met?

The desperate kind.

The lonely kind.

At least, that’s what her friends would say. Sansa Stark blew out a hard breath. She didn't feel either desperate nor lonely, but there was something about this particular guy that got her heart rate going and her stomach fluttering in anticipation just thinking about him.

About being with him.

From the first instant she’d seen the picture of Gunnery Sergeant Sandor Clegane, standing in front of a tank with Margaery’s husband Bronn, she’d been hooked.

Sansa still recalled the day she had walked into Marge’s classroom to leave some paperwork on her desk and had been entranced by the other woman’s screen saver. She’d leaned forward to study the image more closely. The impressively tall man who smirked back at her could’ve been a model for a military beefcake calendar...even with the sizeable scar covering much of the right side of his face.

Deeply bronzed and mouthwateringly muscled, with biceps that looked as if he hefted tanks for a living. He wore nothing but a pair of desert camo pants and boots, and the hint of a tattoo peeked out from under his waistband, riding low on his hipbone. She wished she could see the entire design. He’d cradled a military rifle in his hands with the ease and confidence of a seasoned soldier. This man was the Warrior made flesh.

But it was more than just his impressive physique that had captivated her. It was the expression on his face that had mesmerized Sansa. He smirked devilishly into the camera, but Sansa sensed that behind the careless manner was a deadly serious man.

A dangerous man.

“That’s my husband, Bronn, in Essos...and his friend Sandor.”

Sansa had jerked upright, face flaming as red as her hair at having been caught ogling the image. She had turned to Marge with a breezy smile and quipped, “Well, if Sandor needs any care packages sent to him, just let me know. With a little bubble wrap and tape, I could be there in a week.” Marge raised one perfect brow and shot her a sly, speculative smile.

Later, when she’d returned to her classroom, she’d wondered what in the seven hells had made her say something so completely stupid. She’d meant it as a joke, of course. But later that week, Marge had stopped by her classroom after school.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, and I think sending care packages to Sandor and his platoon is a wonderful idea. You could get your students involved and it would be a great outreach program,” she’d said, smiling. “I’m sure Sandor would love to hear from you. Some of the other teachers are doing it, too.”

And so Sansa had enthusiastically joined Marge’s adopt-a-soldier program. The first box of goodies had been ready to ship just two days later, and tucked in amongst the beef jerky, lip balm, magazines, homemade cookies and protein bars had been a single letter addressed to Sandor. In it, Sansa had told him a little bit about herself. She’d only begun working at the elementary school the year before, having relocated from Winterfell. She’d been excited about the move, but the truth was that she was still adjusting to living on her own, away from her family. While she’d developed casual friendships with the other teachers, she didn’t have any close friends. The prospect of having someone to write to—a stranger who was also far from family and friends—appealed to her.

She’d daydreamed that her letters would cheer him up and provide him comfort. In her imaginings, Sandor Clegane hunkered down in a fighting hole, glistening with sweat, weary from a day of heavy combat. He would sit with his back braced against his rucksack and pull her letters out to reread them, and they would bring a smile to his face. In that first letter, she had included a photo and had provided both her personal e-mail and mailing addresses, just in case he wanted to write back.

Sandor’s first e-mail had arrived the day he received that care package. The message had been brief. He told her how much he’d enjoyed receiving her box of goodies, and that he hoped she would send more. They’d begun a correspondence that had lasted nearly eighteen months, and Sansa had sent him something—a postcard, a letter, a book, a DVD, letters and handmade cards from the kids or a care package—every few days.

Before long, she’d begun to anticipate his letters and e-mails, and she replayed their occasional phone conversations over and over again in her head, recalling the timbre and rasp of his voice and the way he laughed, low and warm. She’d found him incredibly easy to talk to and even easier to listen to. There was a connection between them that couldn’t be denied.

As the months passed, their letters had become increasingly personal, and although Sansa had initially been afraid of being too forward, he hadn’t seemed to mind. If anything, he’d encouraged her. Sansa knew she wasn’t imagining the bond she felt with this man. Maybe she shouldn’t have such strong emotions for a guy she’d never even met, but if the correspondence and phone calls they’d shared over the past several months had made her realize just one thing, it was that she wanted him. Badly.

She hadn’t been in a physical relationship with anyone for nearly two years—not since she’d moved to Maidenpool—and part of her acknowledged that her body craved sex. She rarely went out on the weekends, and the sole time she’d engaged in a one-night stand, she’d been left feeling so guilt-ridden that she’d promised herself never to repeat the experience. When she wasn’t at the elementary school, she spent most of her time driving to Winterfell to visit her family or just reading and watching movies.

But her desire for Sandor went deeper than just a physical longing. At twenty-six, she was ready for a serious relationship, and it seemed that Sandor wanted the same thing. 

His last phone call had come just three weeks ago to tell her he was finally coming home. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear his voice, deep and sexy.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you—I mean really _seeing_ you when I get home,” he’d said, his voice curling warmly through her. “I can’t help but wonder if you’re as gorgeous in person as you are in your photos.”

“What if you’re disappointed?” she’d asked, chewing her lip.

He’d huffed out a slightly bitter laugh. “Not a chance...Bronn confirmed it. Besides, if anyone is going to be disappointed, it’ll be you. I’m not exactly a pretty boy.”

“I had a pretty boy, remember? He was shallow and mean. You seem to have forgotten that this whole thing started because I was drooling over your picture.” She giggled, remembering that day. Then it hit her...He’d talked to Marge’s husband about her? “Confirmed what?”

“What I already knew, that you’re smart and beautiful. And I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

His voice was sincere, lacking any trace of lewdness or sexual suggestion. That had been the clincher for Sansa. For the past several months she’d fantasized about having sex with Sandor Clegane. There was no doubt in her mind that when they did finally come together, the sex would be off-the-charts sensational, but it had been his quiet sincerity about getting to know her that had sealed the deal.

She hadn’t let herself think too much about what he did for a living; couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be a sniper. She had to remind herself that the men he shot weren’t innocent villagers. They were terrorists, plain and simple. They were armed to the teeth and had only one intent: to kill Westerosi soldiers. If men like Sandor weren’t there to eliminate them, God only knew how many soldiers would die as a result.

But she did worry that eventually the burden of his actions might be too much for him to bear. Although Sandor brushed her concern for him away, she wasn’t naive enough to think the job didn’t take a toll on him, both mentally and physically. She’d told him countless times that he could talk to her about it; he could talk to her about _anything_. But he’d insisted he was fine and she’d had no choice but to accept that. She was just relieved that during the course of four tours he hadn’t been injured, or worse.

Now his unit was finally coming home, but with two weeks of active duty left, he would remain at Camp Lemonwood in Dorne until his release date. Sansa had been frustrated and disappointed to learn he wouldn’t immediately return to the Riverlands. She didn’t want to wait a month to see him. She needed to know if he came even a tiny bit close to the image she’d woven of him in her mind.

When he’d asked her to spend a week with him in Dorne, she had been thrilled to agree. School would be out for the summer and although she’d hoped to do some traveling, she’d much rather be with Sandor. She planned to fly down with Marge, their flight scheduled to land 2 hours before the marines were due in. 

Two weeks before the guys were due to come home, Margaery invited Sansa to a girls day at the mall to find outfits for their trip south. First stop...lingerie, or “visual aids” as Margaery called it. “So, are you nervous about meeting Sandor?” Margaery asked.

“A little...but more excited. I know it’s probably crazy to fall for someone I haven’t even met, but here I am wondering if he prefers bikinis or cheeky panties.” 

“Has he told you he loves you yet?” Marge asked.

Sansa’s jaw dropped. “I...ah...no...um”

Marge laughed and patted her shoulder. “He will. It’s just a matter of time. Bronn says the guy’s got it bad. Be kind to him. He’s a good man and it’s his first rodeo. Don’t break his heart...Bronn counts on him. They watch each other’s backs.”

They made their purchases and moved on to the next shop. While picking through a rack of dresses, Sansa asked, “so, is Bronn re-enlisting?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it! It’s time to settle down. I want to start a family, and I’m not raising kids on my own.”

“What do you think about this one?” Sansa held a yellow sundress to her body, looking in the mirror.

“Vavavoom!” Marge wiggled her eyebrows, “That’s a man-catching dress.”

“Perfect! That’s exactly the look I was going for,” Sansa replied with a grin. “Let’s go have some caffeine therapy.”

“How about you? Are you excited Bronn will be back home soon?” Sansa asked as they sat at a little table in a delightfully pretentious coffee shop.

“Yeah, I am. I miss him so much,” Margaery said. “I’m so damned tired of being alone.” She smiled mischievously. “I told him a couple of weeks ago that he’d been replaced by my vibrator. You know what he said?”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Send pictures.”

Sansa snorted coffee out through her nose. It burned and her eyes filled up as she tried to choke it back down. “Way too much information. Really.”

Margaery’s laugh echoed through the small coffee shop, prompting several odd looks from those around them. “Oh my, you should have seen your face. Priceless, truly priceless.”

“I’m going to be smelling coffee for the rest of the day, thanks.”

Marge’s phone rang just then, and she put it on speaker. “Hey Cassie, how are y…” 

The woman on the other end interrupted in a panicky voice “Have you heard?”

“Heard what?” Marge sat up straight, worry written across her face.

“There are posts on the battalion Westbook page saying two units got hit. One of them was Bronn’s”

All the color drained from Marge’s face and she went deathly still. Sansa’s own skin went cold as she listened. 

“Five dead, multiple injured. Family Readiness group meeting at my house at 6. I’ve got to go. See you soon. Love you.” Marge ended the call and they both stood. 

Tears streamed down her friend’s face and her breath came in quick, short gasps. Sansa’s own heart broke even as she folded Margaery into her arms.

Marge pulled herself together first and said, “Let’s go to battalion headquarters and see if we can get some information.”


	4. News from the front

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These short, angsty chapters are a bugbear for me. I hope they’re not too rough, guys. It’ll get better, I promise!

_ 9 months ago _

_ …..Margaery invited me to the family readiness group meeting last month. I hope you don’t find that presumptuous. I met lots of people and I think I even made a couple new friends. I was so afraid that they would be judgey because I’ve never actually met you, but they welcomed me with open arms.  _

_ I feel really good about my life right now. New friends, a great job that I love...you. I hope you know how much I like you, Sandor. Please take care of yourself and stay safe! _

_ Your little bird _

_ P.S. I can’t wait for you to come home! _

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━  
  


Present day

After the meeting, Sansa laid in bed, curled around a pillow, trying to wrap her mind around the events of the day. The trip to battalion headquarters had been useless. They couldn’t give out any information on dead and injured service members until families were notified, and units downrange were under a communications blackout until that time, as well. She knew it was out of respect for the dead and their families, but Gods it physically hurt to not know if Sandor and Bronn were safe. 

The mood at the FRG meeting was somber. Four women had already received the dreaded knocks on their doors. It was frightening to Sansa to think that one knock on the door could change your entire life...it could break your heart.

Marge had covered her face with her hands as Sansa rubbed her back. “I can’t keep doing this,” she sobbed. “Bronn promised me this will be the last deployment. I’m going to shoot him in the foot if he even mentions re-upping.”

After a moment, Marge straightened, but her lips quivered as she struggled to pull everything back inside. “I have to get home. What if they're trying to contact me and I’m not there?! Oh, Gods.”

Sansa wanted to say something, anything, to comfort her friend, but she barely knew how to handle her own worry and anxiety. 

The ride home was tense and silent. When Marge stopped in front of her house, she turned to Sansa, reached for her hand and said, “Pray for them, Sansa, and I’ll do the same. I know you’re as worried as I am. I’ll call you if I hear anything.”

  
━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

3:00 AM

Sansa was startled out of a restless sleep by the ringing of her phone.

_ Margaery _ . She was instantly awake as she answered. “Marge! What’s happening?”

“Bronn called. They’re safe, Sansa, they’re safe!” Marge happily shouted into the phone. 

“Thank the Seven! I wonder when I can talk to Sandor.” 

“Listen to me, he was hurt, but he’s ok. Bronn said that he was shot...a flesh wound and a concussion. He asked Bronn to make sure you know that he’ll call you soon.”

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

10:00 PM

She answered the phone on the first ring. “Hello?” 

“Little bird, are you alright?” Sandor sounded exhausted. “I’m so sorry, I should have added you to the emergency contact list.”

“What happened?” She spoke quickly to hide her nervousness, and her voice sounded high and breathless, even to her own ears. Could he tell she was a bundle of nerves? She cleared her throat and strove for a normal tone. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I got lucky.”

Sansa didn’t miss how his voice shook. “Tell me?”

“I took a hit to the back of my helmet. But I’m okay now.”

Sansa gasped at him in horror. “What do you mean—you got hit in the back of the head?”

“A bullet hit the back of my helmet, but was deflected by the armored shell. It penetrated just above my ear. Thankfully, it was mostly spent. It grazed the side of my head, but didn’t do any real damage.” He laughed softly. “Except for a bitch of a headache.”

Sansa couldn’t dispel the image she had in her head of Sandor, lying facedown on the ground with a hole in the back of his helmet and a growing pool of blood beneath his head. She tried, unsuccessfully, to control the sob that escaped.

“Hey, It’s ok. I’m a big fucker and I’m tough to kill.”

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she whispered into the phone. “I’m so glad you’re coming home soon!”

”So am I, Little bird. So am I.”


	5. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had a difficult time editing this week, so if some parts are a bit stilted and some dialogue a bit unpolished...deal wid it ;)

_ Dear Sansa, _

_ We started training with local police and military today, trying to prepare them to pick up the reins of their own government when we leave. If their competence is what determines how soon we leave this fucking sandbox, we’ll be here another 50 years. Seriously though, I think we’re in the end phase now and may be coming home soon.  _

_~~I hope it’ll be summer when we do come home. Teachers don’t work summers, do they? Would it be too much to ask for you to be there? Never had anyone to welcome me home before. Always been on my own. Fuck, that sounds pathetic. Forget I mentioned it~~ …….. _

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

Her stomach was in knots about the prospect of finally meeting him. Needing a distraction, she told Marge that she’d be back in a minute, then went into the bathroom. She leaned back against the closed door and took a few deep, calming breaths. The soft music piped in soothed her frazzled nerves. She smoothed on some lip balm and then critically surveyed her appearance in the mirror over the sink.

She’d worn the yellow baby-doll sundress that hugged her breasts and floated around her thighs. She’d paired it with a simple necklace of strung shells and pearls, and a pair of strappy sandals. She knew she looked good, so why did she feel so nervous and self-conscious?

Leaning over the vanity, she combed her fingers through her hair, letting it fall in loose waves down her back. Would Sandor approve? In his letters, he’d said that he liked her hair when it was down, so that’s how she’d worn it. Blowing out a hard breath, she left the bathroom and made her way back to Marge just as marines started to trickle in thru the security doors. 

She sucked in a deep breath, willing her nerves to calm down. She was a bundle of anticipation and anxiety, and it was all she could do to stand still. Marge, seeing her nervousness, reached out to hold her hand and they clung to each other, waiting. 

The security doors swung open, and Bronn walked through the doors. Marge shrieked “Bronny!” which was lost in the cacophony of numerous joyous reunions taking place all around them, then launched herself into her husband’s arms, wrapping her legs around him...kissing him senseless. 

Behind them, the doors opened once more, and there he was. Sansa stopped breathing. He didn’t immediately see her, and she took the opportunity to drink in the sight of him. He wore his desert camo uniform and cap, and he looked tall, broad, dangerous and altogether delicious. Then he looked across the now crowded terminal and saw her. 

The photos she’d seen of Sandor Clegane hadn’t done him justice.

Not even close.

They’d failed to capture the sheer energy that vibrated from him. Her first thought was that the man could have been cast from bronze, from his golden skin to the powerfully muscled physique evident beneath the T-shirt. Only the stark white bandage over his left ear peeking out beneath the cap gave her pause, oddly out of place with the vitality that he radiated. A dark, yellowing bruise marred his cheekbone and temple.

Then she looked into his eyes and was lost. They were a shade of silver grey that seemed to glow in his tanned face. 

They stood watching each other, both seemingly frozen in place. Sandor removed his cap, a flash of something Sansa registered as vulnerability in his eyes. His scars and the patches of scalp where the hair didn’t grow were fully displayed beneath the bright lights of the terminal. “Well if he thinks his scars are going to scare me off, he’s got another thing coming,” she thought to herself. 

She shot him a radiant smile and rushed toward him, while he shouldered his way through the crowd, his eyes fastened on her, until finally she was in his arms and his lips finally, blessedly touched hers. It was as though every minute of the last eighteen months of her life was tied to this particular second, as though every tick of the clock had been leading up to this kiss. Sound receded. Sensation reigned. Happiness and joy rushed through her in waves of euphoria.

Sandor made a soft growl of masculine pleasure as his lips brushed lightly—almost reverently—over her mouth. Once, twice, and then his hands framed her face, pushed into her hair, and he laid siege.

There was no other term for it.

His tongue tangled around hers in a thorough exploration of the soft recesses of her mouth. He tasted like rain after a long drought. Like heaven, Sansa thought dimly. 

Sandor stroked her cheek in an achingly tender gesture, as though he’d been waiting a lifetime for this as well, and he fed at her mouth, suckling, tasting, deepening the kiss until her legs shook and her knees threatened to give way. Sansa leaned closer, absorbing the hot, hard feel of him against her, then entwined her arms around his neck.

She loved the feel of his close-cropped hair against her fingers and slid the pad of her thumb over the scarred line of his jaw.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?” Sandor asked, a hint of desperation in his gravelly voice. His hands slid slowly down her back to settle at her waist.

“Not nearly as long as I’ve wanted you to, I’ll bet,” Sansa told him, her giddy heart giving a little jump in her chest. “Welcome home, Sandor,” she said breathlessly.

When they finally pulled apart and became aware of their surroundings, they realized they were being avidly watched by two smugly satisfied friends. “I told you, Bronn,” Marge smirked.

“I never doubted you for a minute, love,” Bronn replied with a wicked grin as he picked up his duffel.

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

Eighteen months getting to know Sandor page by page, call by call and now here she was, standing on a private balcony at the lavishly expensive Royal Martell Hotel, in a palatial suite of rooms overlooking the Summer Sea. The sun was dropping on the horizon, turning the skies and the waters below to an iridescent wash of gold, pink and violet. The scene was breathtaking.

And Sandor Clegane was late.

Turning away from the sunset, Sansa stepped back into the room and glanced for the hundredth time at her watch. He should have been here over an hour ago. Before he got them checked in and left for the base, he said he’d be off duty at 6:00, and here it was almost 7:30.

Needing a distraction, she went into the bedroom and closed the door. “Might as well get this last bag unpacked,” she grumbled to herself. After a few minutes of unpacking and then tidying the room once more, she turned and opened the bedroom door, and stopped in her tracks.

Sandor stood with his back to her in the open doorway of the balcony, silhouetted against the brilliant backdrop of sunset and sea, and for a moment Sansa found it hard to breathe.

He was tall and starkly male, with broad shoulders and lean hips. Beneath his T-shirt, the muscles in his arms were clearly evident as he braced his hands on the railing of the balcony. For a moment, Sansa studied him carefully. He must have sensed her presence, and he turned to face her. 

In the same instant, Sansa realized he wasn’t quite the specimen of good health that he’d initially appeared.Now that she had time to really look at him, she could see shadows beneath his eyes, and lines of fatigue were etched on either side of his mouth. Clearly, he was exhausted.

He watched her now with an intensity that caused Sansa’s stomach to do an odd flip-flop, and her heart exploded into a frenzied rhythm.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said inanely, feeling foolish. She’d rehearsed this moment in her head so many times, yet the best she could do was stand there and stare stupidly at him.

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze so unwavering that her knees began to tremble. “I knocked, but I guess you were in the bedroom. I used my room key to get in.”

His voice was deep and warm, sliding over her senses. Then he gave her a crooked smile and Sansa’s stomach did a slow, inverted roll and her equilibrium shifted. She reached out a hand to steady herself. In an instant he was there beside her with a hand at her elbow.

“Hey, you okay?”

Sansa refocused and found herself staring directly into his eyes. “You have beautiful eyes,” she blurted.

He laughed softly, a warm, husky sound that washed over her and seeped into her skin, making her long to hear more. Her own physical response to Sandor alarmed her. She’d fallen for him based on his letters and their occasional phone conversations...she hadn’t counted on the overwhelming attraction she now felt. Everything about the guy appealed to her, from the expression in his eyes to the warm timbre of his voice, to the raw masculinity that oozed from every pore of his body. She’d never had such an irresistible desire to touch anyone the way she wanted to touch him, and she fisted her hands at her sides to keep from acting on the impulse.

“Your head…” She spoke quickly to hide her nervousness, her voice sounded high and breathless, even to her own ears. Could he tell she was a bundle of nerves? She cleared her throat and strove for a normal tone. “Are you okay?”

Reaching up, he briefly touched the bandage. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Impulsively, she threw her arms around him.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered into his ear.

Sandor’s arms came around her, and nothing had ever felt so wonderful to Sansa. He smelled good...clean and masculine. She breathed in his scent, savoring the feel of him, still a little in awe that he was really there, with her. Her arms tightened around him and she buried her face against his chest.

They stood that way for several long moments, until Sansa slowly became aware that they were pressed together from shoulders to knees. Her arms were wound around his neck and her fingers clung to the strong contours of his shoulders. Her breasts were crushed against him, and his hands were stroking along her spine. His breathing had changed and Sansa felt the unmistakable thrust of his arousal against her abdomen. The awareness caused her nipples to contract and heat to build low in her belly.

She pulled away, unable to meet his eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbled, smoothing her skirt.

“For what?” His voice sounded gravelly.

Sansa swallowed hard and glanced at him. “For throwing myself at you like that.” She gestured helplessly, her stomach a mass of knotted anxiety. “I’m just so glad that you’re okay.”

He scrubbed a hand over his hair. “Oh, man,” he said on a half laugh, half groan. “You are making this very hard for me, Sansa Stark.”

“Making what hard?” she asked innocently, but was helpless to prevent a downward glance at the front of his camo pants.

A flush of ruddy color turned his neck and ears red. He drew in a swift breath and caught her gaze with his own, his expression turned serious. “I’ve waited a long time for this moment. Toward the end of my tour, all I could think about was that I’d finally get to meet you, and my plan was just to take it slow and get to know you better, see how things went. But now that I’m here, I can’t quite get my head around it, you know?” He seemed a little dazed. “You’re even more fucking gorgeous in person. So what I want to know is, what are you doing here with me?”

Sansa stared at him, realizing that he was as uncertain and apprehensive as she was. He wanted to go slow! To get to know her better. Sansa felt a rush of pleasure at his words, even as she acknowledged that going slow was suddenly the last thing she wanted. His obvious confusion gave her added confidence.

Pushing down her own nervousness, Sansa stepped closer. She knew he was attracted to her. Even if his lower body hadn’t betrayed him, his desire for her was evident in the way his breathing hitched when she touched him, and the way he stood rigidly still, as if he only barely held himself in check.

He watched her with an intensity that made her mouth go dry and her palms go damp. Her own breath had quickened, and just the thought of touching Sandor caused a whirlwind of heated sensation to swirl through her. The urge to feel his skin beneath her fingers was an overwhelming compulsion that she couldn’t resist. Reaching out, she tentatively stroked her hands over his arms, admiring the contrast of her slender fingers against the hard bulge of his biceps. His skin was incredibly warm and she could feel the hard play of his muscles beneath her palms.

“I’m here because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, either,” Sansa confessed. She swallowed hard and allowed her hands to travel upward, over his shoulders. She ran the back of her knuckles along the strong column of his throat before boldly cupping his jaw in the palms of her hands. “I’m here because you asked me to come.”

Seeing the truth Of it in her eyes, Sandor closed his eyes briefly and turned his face into her hand. His lips brushed over the sensitive center of her palm, and Sansa felt a tremble go through his body. “You barely know me,” he muttered against her skin.

“Not true,” she protested, smoothing her thumbs over the faint stubble on his jaw. “I got to know you through your letters and phone calls. And what I know, I happen to like. A lot.”

Sandor’s eyes burned into hers as he cupped her elbows and drew her just a little bit closer, until her breasts brushed against his chest. “I’m glad. But I still think we should take this slow—”

She laid her fingertips over his mouth. “Shh. Stop thinking. We only have the week here, and there’s so much I want to do.”

His pupils dilated, swallowing up the surrounding grey and darkening his eyes. “Like what?”

“Well, for starters, I’m dying to kiss you.”

Her lips were incredibly soft and moist, and there was nothing hesitant about the way she cupped his face, both scarred and smoothe, and angled her mouth across his, sweeping her tongue along the seam of his lips until he groaned audibly and opened beneath her tender onslaught.

She tasted faintly of mint, and she smelled like summer flowers. The press of her lush body against his was almost more than he could bear. It took every ounce of his restraint not to grab her sweet ass and grind himself against her, letting her know just how completely turned on he was.

He’d known he was in trouble—big trouble—the instant he saw her standing in the airport terminal, looking like every fantasy he’d ever had. The little yellow dress she wore only emphasized her feminine assets and made him ache to explore all the smooth, pale skin beneath. 

The plunging neckline and tiny bodice barely contained her full breasts. And her legs… Oh, fucking hells, her legs went on forever, long and slender, and he could almost feel them locked around his hips. He found himself wondering if she wore any panties beneath the swirling skirt of her dress, and his cock hardened even more at the thought of her bare, slick flesh.

He’d been serious when he’d told her that he wanted to take it slow, but with her arms wrapped around his neck and the breathless, sexy noises she was making in the back of her throat, he knew there was no way he could back off. Not when he’d dreamed about this for so long. Not when all he really wanted was to push her little yellow dress up over her hips, lay her across the enormous bed and sink himself into her soft, welcoming body. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of.

Sandor heard himself groan as her tongue slid hotly against his, and lust spiraled through him. His hands slid from her elbows to her waist, and then lower, to cup her luscious ass through the thin fabric of her dress. He fitted her against himself, and she encouraged him by straddling his leg and riding the big muscle of his thigh.

Sandor knew they were moving too fast. He needed to slow things down, but his body refused to obey. His blood churned through his veins and his heartbeat was an insistent pounding in his ears. With difficulty, Sandor dragged his mouth from Sansa’s and looked into her upturned face. Her big blue eyes were hazy with pleasure, and her pink lips were swollen and damp from the kisses they’d shared. Then the pounding he’d heard came again, and with a rueful laugh he set Sansa away from him.

“I think that’s our room service,” he explained, and in three long strides moved to the door. He dug in his pocket and thrust some money at the hotel waiter who stood in the corridor, and then pulled the wheeled cart of food into the room and closed the door. He was in the process of throwing the dead bolt when he paused, opened the door again and hung the Do Not Disturb placard on the outside doorknob. He shut the door once more, locked it and secured the chain.

“What’s this?” Sansa asked.

“I, uh, thought we could celebrate a little,” Sandor explained, watching as Sansa examined the contents of the cart.

A bottle of chilled champagne and two elegant champagne flutes stood next to a platter of sliced fruit, everything from pineapple and melon to ripe strawberries and succulent chunks of fresh mango. Sandor watched as Sansa lifted the cover from a silver chafing dish to reveal several pots of warm fruit dip.

“Oh,” she breathed, inhaling deeply. “Chocolate. This one looks like melted marshmallow cream and I think this is caramel.”

She dipped a finger into one of the selections and Sandor watched, mesmerized, as she popped her finger into her mouth and slowly sucked it clean. “Mmm,” she hummed, her eyes closing in pleasure. “Definitely caramel.” She slanted him an innocent look. “You should try the marshmallow cream.”

Without breaking his gaze, Sansa swirled her finger through the melted marshmallow. Sandor thought she would offer him her finger, and he was really looking forward to licking the sticky sweet treat from the tip, much as she had just done. Instead, she shook her hair back and stroked her finger along her cleavage, leaving a gleaming white trail between her breasts.

His eyes flew to hers to make sure he’d read her invitation correctly. The combination of uncertainty and anticipation he saw reflected there told him he hadn’t misunderstood. Making love to Sansa hadn’t been part of his plan, and a part of him protested moving so fast. He wanted her to understand that she was special. As much as he wanted a physical relationship with her, he was willing to wait. But he hadn’t counted on his own response to her; his body was hot and hard, and more than anything, he wanted to feel her flesh surrounding him. He wanted to lose himself in her.

“Oh, little bird,” he groaned, “you’re killing me.”

She smiled, and then she did offer him her finger, watching intently as he wrapped his lips around the digit and sucked the remnants of the sweet marshmallow from the tip. Her breath quickened as he slowly released her finger and then grasped her by the waist and bent her backward just a little.

“I’ve never been much for sweets,” he rasped, as he bent his head, “but I think you’ve just made me an offer I can’t resist.”

Holding her firmly, Sandor dipped his head and stroked his tongue along the marshmallow path. She gasped softly and clutched his shoulders. Her skin was hot beneath the sugary marshmallow and the taste of her was intoxicating. He lapped the last bit of sweetness from her skin and then trailed his lips over the swell of her breast beneath the fabric. When he reached the small thrust of her nipple, he hesitated, ready to back off if she indicated in any way that she didn’t want this. But when she gave a small sound of assent and pressed her fingers into his shoulders, he drew her nipple into his mouth, savoring the sound of her little moan.

He angled his head so that he could see her face as he suckled her through the thin material of her dress. She gripped his shoulders, her eyelids half-closed and her lips parted as she watched him. Still holding her closely with one arm, he used his free hand to ease the narrow strap of her sundress down over her shoulder. The fabric of her bodice loosened, and it took no effort at all to push it down and expose her bare breast to his greedy gaze. Sandor pulled back slightly to admire her. Her flesh was round and firm, and the exposed nipple was dusky pink. He stroked his thumb across the stiff bud before dipping his head to flick it with his tongue.

“Unh.” Sansa made a strangled sound of need, and then her hands were everywhere, stroking over his back and shoulders, along his ribs and over his hips, and then up again to caress the back of his neck and urge his head closer.

Sandor complied, drawing the hard nub deep into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. Her body shifted restlessly against his and she was murmuring something that sounded like, “So good…so good.”

He had to agree. Nothing had ever tasted as fucking good in his mouth as Sansa Stark. He rolled her nipple gently between his teeth before soothing the sensitized flesh with his tongue.

“I want to see you,” she said raggedly, and used both hands to yank the hem of his T-shirt from the waistband of his trousers. Then her soft, warm palms slid beneath the fabric and smoothed over the bare skin of his ribs and chest.

Sandor groaned and broke away long enough to reach behind his shoulders and grasp a fist full of his shirt and drag it over his head. He would have immediately returned to worshipping Sansa’s breast, but she stopped him with one hand in the center of his chest.

“I  _ really _ want to see you,” she said breathlessly, and leaned slightly back to look at him.

Sandor’s breath caught as Sansa devoured him with her eyes, gratified that he’d kept himself in shape. Her gaze lingered on the black Dothraki tribal tattoo that curved over his shoulder and extended downward along his upper arm. When she took in the rest of him, her expression was one of pure, female desire. He took the opportunity to slide a finger under the remaining strap of her dress and slip it over her shoulder until the entire bodice fell to her waist.

Her breasts gleamed softly in the muted light, and her thrusting nipples begged for his touch. His balls tightened and a shaft of pure lust jackknifed through him.

“Fuck,” he growled, cupping each breast and testing their weight in his palms, “you are so Godsdamned beautiful. How did I get so lucky?”

“You haven’t. At least, not yet.” She smiled, smoothing her hands over his chest, and circling the small, hard nubs with her fingertips. “I wonder if you taste as good as you look?”

Before Sandor could guess her intent, she reached out and dipped a finger in one of the pots of fruit dip, and slowly spread the warm goo over his nipple. Then, as he held his breath, she bent forward and covered him with her mouth, her tongue moving sensuously over his flesh, even as she reached up and offered him her finger.

Sandor closed his lips around her finger, drawing on it the same way he had her breast, and finding the dual sensation of her fingertip in his mouth and her mouth on his flesh almost unbearable. He closed his eyes briefly against the exquisite sensation, his own hands still filled with the soft weight of her breasts.

“Mmm,” she murmured against his skin, “you’re my new favorite flavor.” She withdrew her finger and continued to suck and lick his flesh, but now she was working her way downward until her hands came to rest on his belt buckle. She glanced up at him. “May I?”

Sandor realized she had dropped to her knees in front of him, and his balls ached at the knowledge of what she wanted to do next.

“Oh, Hells yes,” he agreed, pulling her to her feet, “but not like this.”

Ignoring her cry of surprise, he bent forward and tucked a shoulder beneath her and then stood up, holding her in place with one arm clamped firmly across the back of her bare thighs. She laughed and clutched at his back, her long hair tickling his skin as he hefted her more firmly into place across his shoulder.

“Ooh, wildling tactics,” she said, her breath coming hard. “I like it.”

“I just need one hand free,” he explained, leaning over and scooping up the entire tray of fruit dip, “because I think we’re going to need this.”

Carrying Sansa and the tray of sauces, he crossed to the bedroom and put the tray down on the bedside table. Only then did he allow Sansa to slide very slowly from his shoulder, enjoying the glide of her bare skin against his.

“I think you have too many clothes on,” he muttered.

Reaching behind her, Sandor found the zipper at the back of the dress and drew it down until the entire garment loosened and then slithered over her hips to puddle on the floor around her feet. Immediately, all the saliva in his mouth evaporated. She wore nothing but a pair of tiny white panties that emphasized her lushly curved ass and long legs.

Before he could unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth to tell Sansa how incredibly, fucking sexy he found her, she went back to work on his belt buckle.

“I think you’re the one with too much clothing on,” she said, and sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling him forward to stand between her spread knees. “Maybe you can help me with this.”

Sandor’s brain kicked back into gear, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from her ripe body as his fingers worked the lacings on his boots and kicked them off. Sansa’s hands had released the fastening of his belt, and then she popped the button free on his camo pants. She hummed her approval as he helped her push the pants down over his hips, and he was achingly aware of his own arousal, straining against the front of his boxers.

He wanted to go down on his knees and pay homage to all the lush, feminine flesh on display before him, but when she slipped a hand inside the waistband of his shorts, he ceased to think altogether.

“I’ve been dying to see this tattoo,” she murmured, and while she enclosed one hand around his stiffened cock, she used her free hand to trace the Myrish knot that adorned his hip bone. “Mmm, I like this.”

Sandor wasn’t sure if she referred to the tattoo or his raging erection. She stroked her hand along his length, watching his face, and the sensation was so intense that he knew he wasn’t going to last. He clenched his teeth together hard enough that his molars ached, and then pulled her hand away.

“Little bird, stop.” His voice came out as a low growl. “You’re going to finish me if you keep that up.”

Sansa’s face was flushed, and although she didn’t try to touch him again, she couldn’t seem to drag her gaze away from where his cock strained toward her.

“Then tell me what to do,” she implored, her fingers tangling with his. “Tell me what you like…and how you like it.”

Sandor wanted to laugh. What he really liked was Sansa, any way he could get her. In fact, he was a little bit afraid that he liked her way too much. She might be a stranger to him in many respects, but being with her made him feel as though he’d finally come home.

“Just let me kiss you,” he said softly, “and we’ll take it from there.”

  
  



	6. First Contact

_ Dear Sandor, _

_ This morning I woke up and my first thought was of you. I imagined your naked body twisted in my sheets and your head resting against my rumpled pillow. I rested my head against your chest, listening to you breathe. Then, when you woke, you turned to me and kissed me softly and made love to me so slowly. I touched myself, pretending that it was your hands on me…… _

_ ━━━━༺❀༻━━━━ _

Leaning down, Sandor cupped her face in his big hands and kissed her slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. He kissed her as if he hadn’t been sex-deprived for the past eighteen months. As if kissing her wasn’t the prelude, but the main event. But Sansa could feel the barely restrained lust that drove him, and the fact that he gentled his touch for her only fueled her own rising desire.

She knew she was taking a huge risk. Although he’d said he wanted to get to know her better, she was uncertain, but hopeful, that he was interested in something long-term. Something permanent. But she no longer cared. When he’d turned toward her from the balcony, she’d seen something in his eyes that made her believe she could trust him, with both her heart and her body.

The guy knew how to kiss, slanting his mouth across hers and tormenting her with the slightly rougher texture on the scarred side of his lips and the slick slide of his tongue against her own, feasting on her lips until she heard a small whimper of need and realized with a sense of shock that it came from herself. She kissed him back, gripping his shoulders and pulling him back with her until she lay sprawled beneath him across the enormous bed. She pushed his boxers past his hips, and he helped her by removing them and kicking them completely free until only the fragile barrier of her panties separated them.

Sandor braced himself over her with one hand on the mattress, and Sansa gave a little cry of surprise when he hooked his free arm beneath her and hefted her more fully onto the bed. Then he lowered himself until his entire body was pressed against hers, skin to skin. She hummed her approval and slid her hands over his back and pulled him into the welcoming cradle of her hips. He bumped against her most private spot, hot and hard. She knew she was damp with need, and when he slid a hand between her thighs to cup her, she writhed against him.

“Fucking Hells, you’re so wet,” he said hoarsely, and then he pushed the silk aside and slid a finger gently through her slick folds to caress her.

Sansa’s hips bucked as pleasure lashed through her, burning and fierce. When he found the small rise of flesh at the top of her cleft and swirled his finger gently over it, she cried out and then bit her lip, not wanting to come too soon. Not wanting this to end.

“That’s it, little bird” Sandor rasped, encouraging her small, frantic movements. He eased himself up just enough so that he could look directly into her face, his focus unwavering. “I want to see you come.”

He inserted a finger inside her, and then another, and Sansa gasped at the sensation. Sandor dipped his head and slowly kissed her, before dragging his lips across her jaw and along the side of her neck. He raked his teeth along sensitive skin beneath her ear, and then drew it into his mouth, sucking gently as he thrust his fingers into her greedy flesh.

His body was warm and solid against hers, and he smelled delicious...fresh soap and tangy aftershave. The combination was too much, and when he pulled back to look down at her again the expression in his silver-grey eyes was so sexy and intense that Sansa couldn’t hold back any longer. With a strangled cry, she convulsed around his fingers and her body arched upward as a powerful orgasm crashed over her.

“Fuck, that was so incredibly hot,” Sandor breathed against her mouth as tiny aftershocks rocked her body. “Listen, little bird, we don’t have to go any further. Watching you come apart was amazing. So, if you’d rather wait—”

“No, I don’t want to wait,” Sansa gasped against his lips, realizing it was the truth. “I’m sure about this. About you.” She gave a small laugh. “I know how that must sound, but I’m serious.”

“Good,” Sandor growled, “because I can’t wait any more. I’ve fantasized about doing this.” He dragged her panties down her legs until she could kick free, and then he positioned himself between her splayed thighs.

Still shattered by the strength of her release, Sansa struggled to think coherently. “A condom,” she panted. “We need a condom.”

With a muttered curse, Sandor reached down and snatched his pants from the floor, digging impatiently through the pockets until he retrieved a small foil packet. Tearing it open, he covered himself with hands that visibly trembled, and then came over her, bracing himself with one hand on the mattress.

Sansa lifted her head and looked down the length of their bodies to where he held his cock in his hand. He was thick and long, and even after the amazing climax she’d just experienced, she found herself wanting more.

“Inside me...please,” she invited, sliding her hands to his hips and urging him forward. “I want to feel you, all of you.”

Sandor groaned and fitted himself against her sensitized flesh, and then surged slowly forward, stretching and filling her. The sense of heat and fullness was incredible, and Sansa shifted experimentally.

“Don’t move,” Sandor commanded in a strangled voice, holding her hips still with his hands. “God, I’m not sure I can last if you move.”

“You feel so good,” she murmured, exploring the sleek muscles of his back. “I’m not sure I can stay still.”

“Just give me a second. You’re so tight.” His voice sounded strained.

He bent his forehead to hers, his breathing ragged. Then slowly he began to move, rocking against her in a series of bone-melting thrusts. Sansa couldn’t help herself; she raised her legs and locked them around his lower back, moving her hips to meet his thrusts. When he captured her lips with his own and slid his tongue against hers, Sansa felt the tendrils of a second orgasm begin to build. Her entire body felt flushed and heated.

She opened her eyes when Sandor pulled back and dragged her bottom to the edge of the bed, hooking her legs over his elbows, opening her even more. He looked supremely male, all thrusting shoulders and hard muscles, and the expression on his face as he looked at the spot where they were joined was one of pure, masculine appreciation. Sansa followed his gaze, and the sight of his flesh disappearing inside hers was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen.

“You are so godsdamned beautiful,” he said in a low growl.

Gripping her hips, he withdrew almost completely and then drove into her again. His movements became stronger and faster, and his face was taut with desire. The base of his cock tormented her with each driving motion until she could no longer bear the exquisite sensations.

She cried out as her orgasm hit her, feeling her body clench around Sandor’s unyielding flesh. With a hoarse shout, he thrust one last time and then stiffened, his head thrown back and the cords in his neck standing out in sharp relief. He pulsed strongly within her for several long seconds, before his head dropped forward and he exhaled on a shuddering sigh.

Withdrawing from her, he discarded the condom. Sansa scooted herself back against the pillows, using her feet to push the coverlet down and drag the sheet over herself. Sandor slid in beside her and pulled her against his side. Sansa went willingly, laying her head on his shoulder and letting him curl his fingers around hers.

“That was amazing,” she murmured, sliding a leg over his.

“Pretty unbelievable,” he agreed, and pressed a kiss against her hair.

Angling her head, Sansa studied his features. His eyes were closed and a contented, crooked smile played around his mouth. She took the opportunity to study him, noting the strong jaw and finely chiseled lips. She traced the scarring on his temple and cheek with gentle fingertips, and when he tensed and opened his eyes to look at her, she was struck by the raw vulnerability in his eyes.

“I can’t believe you don’t have hordes of women waiting for you at home,” she said, tracing a finger along his jaw. “You’re the epitome of tall, dark and handsome.”

He scoffed softly then smoothed a tendril of her hair back with one finger. “I’m glad you think so.”

Sansa raised herself on one elbow. “I do.” She gave him a teasing look. “You’re sure there are no former girlfriends back in Maidenpool?”

Sandor made a shrugging motion. “None that I’d be interested in getting in touch with.” When Sansa didn’t respond, he continued. “Being in the military isn’t exactly conducive to relationships, and being a sniper has a way of freaking some people out. All I’m saying is that the few girlfriends I had weren’t all that supportive of what I did.”

Sansa absorbed this, silently acknowledging that in the beginning, she’d had some difficulty accepting what he did for the military. But she understood the necessity of his job and it had never occurred to her not to support him, completely and unconditionally. Slowly, she lowered herself back to the pillow.

“Hey,” Sandor said, propping his head on his hand to look down at her. “That wasn’t supposed to be a downer. I had a job to do and I did it.”

“You haven’t really told me why you’re leaving the military, except to say that you’ve had enough. Is that why you’re getting out?” she asked. “Because you weren’t getting any support?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I got support from those who mattered. It’s just time I did something different with my life.”

“Like what?”

To her astonishment, he actually looked uncomfortable. “I have some plans,” he hedged. “Nothing definite yet, but I’m working on it.”

Sansa searched his face, but his expression was shuttered. “I see,” she finally said. Even during their correspondence, he hadn’t been clear on what he intended to do once he returned to civilian life except to say that he needed some time just to unwind and consider his options. “If there’s anything I can help you with, let me know.”

“Well, maybe you can help me understand why you waited a year and a half for a guy you’d never even met. You can’t tell me that you don’t have men lining up at your door.”

Now it was Sansa’s turn to laugh. “There’s not much opportunity to meet single men at an elementary school,” she finally replied, pretending the change of subject didn’t bother her. “I don’t really go out much, and most of my close friends live in the North. Not that I mind. I’m more of the binge-watch-marathons-on-Netflix type, anyway.”

“I hope you’ll let me come over and watch Netflix with you.”

Reaching out, she ran her hand up his chest to his cheek, and flirtatiously said, “As long as you bring the chill, consider yourself invited. It’s strange, but I feel closer to you than to any other guy I’ve ever dated.”

Sandor turned his face into her palm. “I feel the same way. You’re not like any woman I’ve met before, which is a good thing.”

Sansa didn’t want to think about where their budding relationship might go. She told herself to take it a day at a time. He’d just come back from a long tour in Meereen and she’d been waiting for him with open arms. Any guy would take what she’d offered. Would he still be interested in her once he settled into civilian life?

“I guess time will tell,” she finally answered. Not wanting to pursue the topic, she traced a finger over the white bandage above his ear. “Can you tell me how you were shot? Was there a battle?”

Sandor laid a finger over her lips. “We got involved in a firefight with some insurgents, and I did something stupid. I left my post and made myself a target. But I’m fine. Really. I don’t want you to worry about it.”

Sansa pushed his hand away. “Why did you leave your post? You must have had a good reason, right?”

Sandor hesitated. “Yeah, I had a good reason. But it’s over now and we don’t need to talk about it.”

Clearly, he didn’t want to discuss his injury or how he’d received it. Still, Sansa couldn’t dispel the gory images playing through her head. She shuddered and pressed closer to him.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she whispered, brushing her lips over his. “And that you won’t be going back.”

Instead of answering her, he kissed her back, his lips moving sensuously over hers, even as his hand began a leisurely exploration of her body. Sansa pulled away, vaguely disturbed by his silence. “You’re not going back, are you?”

He nuzzled her neck, catching her earlobe between his teeth and then soothing the area with his tongue. “Nope.” He lifted his head. “But there is something I have to tell you.”

Sansa drew in a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever it was he had to say. “I’m listening.”

“There’s nothing I want more than to spend the entire week here in this room with you. Believe me about that. But something’s come up and I have to return to base at oh-six-hundred tomorrow morning. I’ll try to be back as soon as I can, but I’m not sure how long this thing is going to take.”

Sansa frowned. “What thing?”

Sandor actually looked embarrassed. “Just an awards ceremony. More of a dog-and-pony show for the press than anything else. But I have to be there.”

“Are you getting an award?”

“A couple of medals, me and several other guys, no big deal.”

Sansa gave a huff of disbelieving laughter. “I’m not sure that’s true. You must have done something pretty extraordinary to be receiving a medal. I thought they only gave them to heroes.”

“Trust me,” Sandor said quietly, “I’m no hero.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she pretended to be absorbed in drawing an intricate pattern on his chest with her finger. “So, are families coming to the ceremony?”

“Nah. It was a last-minute thing. There’s a four-star general visiting the base and the top brass apparently thought it would be cool for him to make the presentations.”

“But could you bring someone if you wanted to?” Sansa persisted.

“I could.” He slid his hand beneath her hair to cup the nape of her neck and pulled her down until his lips were a mere breath from hers. “Listen, I’d ask you to come but I’m not sure how long it’ll take and it might be boring for you. You’ll be happier here. You can go down to the beach, do some shopping with Marge before she heads home, or just hang out. I’ll be back before you know it, and I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

He captured her lips in a kiss that was both searingly hot and sweetly tender. His arms slid around her, one hand tangling in her hair while the other slid down her back and over her rump to possessively cup and knead her buttocks. Beneath her hips, she could feel him growing hard again, and an answering need began to build low in her belly.

But as he rolled her beneath him, Sansa couldn’t help but wonder why he seemed so determined to keep her and his military life separate.

  
  
  



	7. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to a rare slow week at work, I have another chapter for you, and possibly another this weekend. We’ll see. 
> 
> Sandor is keeping secrets, which we will find out about very soon...he does have his reasons...but it leaves Sansa feeling insecure.

_ Dear Sansa, _

_ Your last letter was too fucking unfair. The thought of you, laying in your bed, perfect and naked and ready for me, half a world away, unable to touch you or hold you...it leaves me aching and hotter than the already blazing heat of this thrice damned desert. If I were there, you would never have to sleep alone…... _

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

Several days later, Sansa opened the front door of her town house and scooped the morning paper from the small porch. She looked at the two envelopes she held in her hand, both addressed to Gunnery Sergeant Sandor Clegane. She’d become so accustomed to sending him letters that even though he was back in Westeros, she couldn’t quite get out of the habit. But these letters were different than the ones she’d sent to him in Meereen.

She’d deluded herself into thinking she had known him through his letters and phone calls. The truth was, she hadn’t known him then, not really. She hadn’t experienced what it was like to be held in his arms, to have his mouth and hands on her. To have the full, potent force of his attention focused on her. To lose herself in him.

Since returning home, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. A pleasurable glow from their week still clung to her and she’d written the letters late at night when she missed him most, knowing she’d revealed more than she should have given the short amount of time that they’d known each other. But she hadn’t exaggerated when she’d told him that she felt closer to him than she had to any other man.

Sansa had had relationships before, and a couple of them had been good. But in the end, none of them had worked out. She was ready to share her life—and her heart—with someone. With Sandor. After their amazing week together, she was certain that he felt the same way. Now she tucked the stamped envelopes into her mailbox for the mailman to collect.

A breeze caught the loose ends of her silk robe and swirled it around her bare feet and she paused for a moment to savor the salty-fresh scent of the bay.

Her town house was located several blocks from the waterfront, but on a quiet morning like this, she could hear the surf and the seagulls. She’d been raised in landlocked Winterfell in the North, but her family spent summers down South on the coast. When she’d decided to move to Maidenpool, she knew she had to live within walking distance of the harbor. There was no way she could afford the expensive homes along the waterfront, but her little town house suited her just fine, and she could walk to the shore within a matter of minutes.

The familiar sounds of home reminded her that Sandor was still many miles away in Dorne. Was he awake at Camp Lemonwood, maybe going for a morning run along the same beach where they’d spent their evenings together?

With a sigh, Sansa stepped back inside and closed the door firmly behind her. In the two days since she’d returned, she hadn’t heard from Sandor. He’d said he would call, but hadn’t been specific about when that might be. Did he think of her? Did he miss her? Or had he just chalked up their time together as a fun weekend interlude?

After their first night together, he’d woken her at dawn with his mouth on her breast and his hand stroking her bottom. She’d been shocked at how swiftly her body responded to his, how she could go from feeling sleepy to sexy in a matter of minutes. They’d made unhurried love, and then she’d curled up in the bedsheets and watched as he dressed.

“I don’t know what time I’ll be back,” he’d said as he’d kissed her, “so don’t hang around if you have things you want to do.”

He’d left his credit card for her to use, despite her adamant protests that she did not want it and would not use it. As if she really wanted to go shopping or have lunch without him at some seaside restaurant. She’d flown all the way to Dorne to be with him, and he thought she might have other plans?

In the end, he hadn’t arrived back at the hotel until after sunset, although he’d kept his promise and made it up to her. She smiled, thinking about the little restaurant he’d taken her to and how they’d walked back to the hotel along the dark beach. When they’d come across a deserted lifeguard station, Sandor had urged her up the wooden ramp to the covered deck, and had kissed her and tormented her with his mouth and hands until she’d all but torn his clothes off and begged him to take her. And he had, up against the wall of the hut, surrounded by darkness, with the pounding of the surf drowning out her cries of pleasure.

Now she placed the newspaper on the kitchen table and poured herself a cup of coffee, telling herself that if she didn’t hear from Sandor today, she would call him tonight. What she wouldn’t do was get all freaked out about the fact that she hadn’t heard from him. After all, he was discharging from the military and he probably had a long list of things he needed to do.

When the phone rang, she startled, sloshing hot coffee over her fingers. She flapped her hand in the air as she snatched up her phone, her heart rate already accelerating in anticipation of hearing Sandor’s voice. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Oh, hi, Mom,” she said, sinking into a chair when she heard her mother’s voice on the other end.

“Are you okay?” her mother asked. “You sound a little blue.”

Sansa sighed. “I’m okay. I thought you were someone else.”

“Someone else, as in someone male?” Sansa heard the hopeful note in her mom’s voice.

“Yes,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Sandor Clegane, the marine I was telling you about. He’s back in Westeros, but he’s doing his out-processing in Dorne and I was just hoping he’d call.”

“It’s early yet, perhaps he’s not a morning person.”

“Well, I think he’s an early riser,” Sansa said, not wanting to tell her mother that Sandor was definitely a morning person, or how she knew that little tidbit of information. “Anyway, what’s up?”

“I wanted to let you know that Robb, Talisa and the boys are coming to visit next week, and I know they’d love it if you could come up, even for an afternoon.”

Sansa thought of her brother and her three rambunctious nephews. She missed them like crazy. Her parents and younger siblings spent their summers at Crackclaw Point, but Robb and Arya had jobs in the North they couldn’t leave for so long. Being so far from her siblings had been the most difficult part of moving to Maidenpool. Unlike most of her college friends, Sansa really enjoyed spending time with her family, and she loved playing with her young nephews.

“I can come up midweek,” she replied. “Maybe I can take the boys paddleboarding .”

“They’d like that. Oh, and I also wanted to remind you about Warrior’s Day weekend. Will you be bringing anyone? Your marine, maybe?”

Sansa loved the annual cookout at her parents’ beach house with her siblings and extended family. Her dad and brothers always prepared a lobster- and clambake on the beach, and the day usually involved a rousing game of beach volleyball, bodysurfing and sandcastle competitions. After dark, they would build a small fire on the sand and watch the fireworks.

Would Sandor want to come with her? She didn’t want to commit him to coming without talking with him first. In fact, she wasn’t sure their relationship was even to the point where he’d be interested in meeting her family.

“I’m not sure, Mom,” she stalled. “I’ll ask him, but he may not even be back by that time. Or he may want to spend that day with his friends.”

“Well, there’s plenty of time to decide. We’d love to meet him.”

They chatted for a few minutes more and then Sansa hung up the phone and unfolded the newspaper. She took a sip of coffee and then nearly choked on the hot liquid as she read the headline: Local Marine Survives Bullet to the Head; Hailed as a Hero for His Actions.

Even before she scanned the article, Sansa knew it was about Sandor. She quickly read the story, which provided all the details of the gunfight he had been reluctant to share with her, including how he had rescued a Meereenese child from danger. The article went on to say that in addition to saving the child, he’d also provided protective fire cover to several other marines, enabling them to scramble to safety. The last paragraph said he was a recent recipient of both the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star.

Sansa frowned, recalling how he’d insisted the medals were no big deal. Why hadn’t he wanted her to know that he was receiving two of the highest honors the military could bestow? It made no sense to her. Despite his denial, he was a hero in every sense of the word.

Setting her coffee aside, she decided to get dressed and go for her morning jog along the shore. There was something infinitely soothing about being near the water, and right now she needed that. As she entered her bedroom, the phone rang again. Her mother, most likely, having forgotten to tell her something in their earlier conversation. She absentmindedly accepted the call then sat on the edge of the bed.

“Did you forget something?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“Oh, yeah,” answered a deeply masculine voice. “I forgot to tell you how much I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”

“Sandor!” Sansa’s heart did a somersault and then exploded into frenzied action. “I thought you were my mother.”

He chuckled, the sound curling warmly inside her ear, and she could easily imagine his face creasing into a smile. “Little bird, I am definitely not your mother, and I doubt she would approve of the things that are going through my mind right now where her daughter is concerned. How are you?”

Sansa couldn’t lie. “Missing you.”

“Yeah, me, too. I wanted to call you earlier, but things have been a little crazy here. Today’s not looking much better, so I thought I’d call you before I left for the base.”

“I’m glad you did. The local paper ran a front-page story about you, Sandor. About what happened to you over there, and how you saved that little girl. They’re calling you a hero.”

There was a brief silence. “That had to have been my commander’s doing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were shot while rescuing a child? Or that the weekend I was in Dorne with you, they awarded you the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star?” Sansa couldn’t keep the dismay out of her voice.

She heard him blow out a breath of frustration. “I was just doing my job, Sansa.”

“Not according to the papers.” Sansa couldn’t believe he was making light of something so important. “Sandor, what you did was amazing. The tabloids are saying that you’re a hero, that you survived that bullet because you rescued the child.”

Sandor snorted. “Oh, right. Let me tell you something. My surviving that bullet was sheer dumb fucking luck and had nothing to do with karma.” His voice dropped, as if he was talking to himself. “If that was the case, I’d definitely be dead.”

“Sandor,” she said, using her firmest teacher voice, “don’t you dare talk like that. You did what needed to be done, and you saved lives. Don’t you ever forget that, okay? That little girl’s family owes you a debt of gratitude. You  _ are _ a hero.”

“All I can say is it must be a slow day in the newsroom if they agreed to do a front-page story about me.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Not very exciting.”

Sansa smiled. “You’re being modest. Besides, I happen to find you very exciting.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Sandor’s voice dropped an octave. “What are you wearing right now?”

“What?”

“What time did you get up?”

Sansa glanced at her bedside clock. “I got up about thirty minutes ago. Why?”

“What did you wear to bed?”

Sansa bit back a smile. “Just a pair of panties and an old T-shirt.”

“Like the one in the photo you sent to me?”

Sansa recalled the picture she had sent to Sandor of herself, clad in a pair of shorts and a cami.

“Not exactly,” she replied.

“Describe it to me, then,” he said, and his voice had taken on a husky note. “I dreamt of you last night. I woke up with a helluva hard-on.”

Sansa felt herself flush warmly all over, she could envision it so clearly. “What did you do?” Her voice was breathless.

Sandor laughed softly. “Nothing. I called you, because this is something only you can take care of. So, describe to me what you’re wearing. In detail.”

“Are you still in bed?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“What are you wearing?” Sansa asked softly, but had a feeling she already knew.

“Nothing, little bird. Absolutely nothing.”

Sansa realized her breathing had quickened just thinking about him in bed, naked and aroused. “I wish I was there with you. I could…take care of you.”

“Oh, you will,” he said huskily. “What color are your panties?”

Sansa glanced down at herself. “They’re pale blue. Satin.”

“Mm. Sounds nice. What about the top?”

“It’s just plain white cotton.”

“There’s nothing plain about it, babe.”

Sansa laughed uncertainly. “How do you know? You can’t see it.”

“Oh, I can imagine it just fine. I can see the way the fabric hugs your curves, and that plain white cotton does nothing to hide your breasts, or the fact that your nipples are hard.”

A quick glance confirmed he was right; her nipples jutted out beneath the thin fabric of the shirt.

“How did you know?”

Sandor chuckled warmly. “Male intuition. Where are you right now?”

“Sitting on the edge of my bed.”

“Perfect. Now lie back against the pillows and run your fingers over your breasts. Go ahead,” he urged when she hesitated. “Tell me when you’re there.”

Sansa did as he asked, feeling a little foolish but recognizing the tendrils of excitement that were beginning to unfurl low in her belly. She felt naughty, but at the same time she wanted to find out just how far Sandor might take this, and how willing she might be to go along with him.

“I’m lying back against the pillows,” she said. “I’m wearing my silk bathrobe over my underwear. It’s white with black lace edging.”

“Spread it so that it fans out on the sheet around you, then bend your knees and open your legs,” Sandor commanded softly.

Sansa did as he asked, letting her thighs fall apart and feeling warmth build at her core. Holding the phone to her ear, she used her free hand to skim over her breasts. She closed her eyes, imagining it was Sandor’s hand stroking her body.

“Oh,” she gasped softly into the receiver, “I’m touching my breasts through the T-shirt. My nipples ache.”

Sandor groaned softly. “Play with them for me. Roll them between your fingertips the way I would do.”

“I am,” she replied. “It feels so good. I wish I could see you, touch you…taste you.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m wishing the same thing. I’m picturing you spread out on that bed. Slide your hand over your belly and down between your legs.”

“Okay.” Sansa did as he asked. Her breathing quickened at the sensation. “My panties are damp,” she breathed, “and I’m feeling so…so…”

“Horny?” She could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Yes.”

“Take your panties off and touch yourself,” Sandor said, his voice oddly hoarse. “Then tell me what you feel.”

Sansa pushed her panties down and then kicked them free, feeling wanton and uninhibited under Sandor’s encouragement. She slid her fingers through her damp curls until she found her slick center. “Oh,” she groaned. “I’m wet. I’m pretending it’s you touching me. I’m picturing you, naked. I can see how hard you are, and I wish I could put my mouth on you. I love how you taste.”

“Ah, fuck,” Sandor said, his voice a low growl. “I’m stroking my cock, imagining how hot you look right now. Put your fingers inside yourself, then touch your clit.”

“Sandor,” she protested weakly, but did as he asked. Her hips shifted restlessly beneath her hand. She gave a soft moan, and heard Sandor hum in approval.

“That’s it…oh, hells, I wish I was there. I’d go down on you, lick you and tease you with my tongue. Then, when your juices were covering my chin and you were begging me for release, I’d fuck you hard and fast.

Sandor’s breathing had become ragged, as if he’d just sprinted up several flights of stairs, and Sansa could picture him clearly, his hand fisted around his erection, stroking it as it swelled. The image was so vivid and so arousing that when she circled her fingers over herself, the inner muscles of her channel began to tighten and then convulse as wave after wave of intense, dizzying pleasure consumed her.

“Oh, oh,” she gasped into the phone, shuddering. “I’m coming, Sandor.”

He groaned loudly in her ear, his breathing harsh. “Me, too, little bird, me, too.”

The knowledge that he had reached the same pinnacle of release that she had was both exciting and disturbing. Never before had she met anyone who could entice her into having phone sex, and then actually succeed in bringing her to orgasm with nothing more than his sexy suggestions.

Sansa lay against the pillows, boneless and sated, listening to the sound of Sandor’s breathing on the other end as it became more regular.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked after a moment.

“Mmm. That was unbelievable.”

“Yeah, it was,” Sandor agreed. “Now maybe I can actually focus on something else today besides how much I miss you.”

His words warmed Sansa. “When are you coming home?”

“I fly in on Friday.”

Sansa sat up, pulling her robe closed. “That’s in two days!”

“Yep. I’m wrapping up a little sooner than expected. I actually have a favor to ask you. A buddy of mine is holding a fundraiser next week for wounded vets, and I volunteered to help out. I’d love it if you came with me.”

“Where is the fundraiser being held?”

“Out at Fort Florian. They’re having a carnival or something, and it’s open to the public.”

“I’d love to go,” she said quickly.

“You’re sure?” he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “No other plans?”

“Nothing that I can’t change,” Sansa assured him. “My mom called earlier to tell me that my brother and his family are going to be visiting them, and asked if I’d come up to see them. But my family always gets together on Warrior’s Day weekend, so I’ll see them then. I’d rather go to the fundraiser with you.”

“Great. Maybe we can drive up to see your family the next day.”

Sansa’s eyebrows flew up, and she was grateful he couldn’t see her astonished expression.

“If you want to, that is,” Sandor continued. “I’d like to meet them. I kinda feel like I already know them.”

Sansa had talked about her family in her letters to Sandor, but the fact that he wanted to meet them caused a tornado of anxiety to swirl through her stomach.

“Let’s play it by ear,” she finally managed. “I don’t mind going up to see them, but I’ll give you some time to change your mind.”

Sandor laughed. “Not going to happen. But it’s totally up to you. I’ll call you as soon as I get in. Listen, I hate to do this, but I have to run if I’m going to make it to the base in time for morning drills. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

Sansa hung up the phone and curled onto her side, replaying the entire scenario and conversation over in her head.

He wanted to meet her parents.

That in itself was enough to cause her stomach to clench. Sansa had the sinking feeling that while Sandor might have said he wanted to meet them just to be polite, her parents would attach more importance to the event than it actually warranted and begin thinking of Sandor as The One.

Sansa found herself hoping that they were right. They really needed to discuss where they both wanted this to go.


	8. Fundraiser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m working really hard to get this story completely posted by June 6, after which my free time will be nonexistent for a few weeks. I don’t want to leave everyone hanging.

Dear Sandor,

Last night I saw a couple holding hands on the beach and thought of you, my fingers threaded through yours, our lives equally entwined. I could happily hold your hand forever…...

  
━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

Sandor couldn’t believe that in the space of a few short days he’d forgotten what a knockout Sansa was. When he’d pulled up to her town house to pick her up, he’d been blown away all over again by the package she presented. Wearing a pair of white shorts and a little blue tank top, she looked good enough to eat and it was all he could do not to drag her into her bedroom and devour her. But she’d been so self-conscious and shy about seeing him that he’d given her a chaste kiss instead and escorted her to his truck. In fact, he couldn’t believe this was the same girl who had met him in Dorne and who had engaged in off-the-charts-hot phone sex with him.

He had a suspicion that his newfound celebrity status had something to do with her reserve. The local news channels had run interviews with him and had declared him a true fucking hero. The more he denied having done anything special, the more they made a big deal out of it. The reporters he’d talked to had seemed genuinely confused when he’d growled at them that he just wanted to settle into civilian life and become a regular guy. He didn’t want to be a godsdamned hero.

He’d promised to call Sansa as soon as he arrived home, but it had been almost two days before he’d actually spoken to her. The first thing he’d done when he came home was to contact the Riverlands Police Academy to confirm his appointment to take the cadet entry exam. He’d done his homework, and he knew he’d be a perfect fit for their special tactical unit. He just needed to pass the exam. Hells, just passing wouldn’t be good enough. He needed to ace that fucking exam and then make a favorable impression during the interview.

He’d planned this for nearly a year, ever since he’d made the decision to leave the military. He’d carried a study guide with him even when he’d been in Meereen, and he had spent every spare minute preparing for the exam. He was as ready as he would ever be. There would be hundreds of applicants but only a fraction would be admitted to the academy. He intended to be one of them. Then there would be the long, rigorous months of recruit training, when he’d be required to live at the academy, much like boot camp.

He’d wanted to tell Sansa about his plans, but had decided to wait until after the exam. He didn’t want her to know just how much he wanted this. If, for some reason, he didn’t get accepted into the academy, he didn’t want to see her disappointment. Fuck, he didn’t want her to see  _ his _ disappointment. And if he did pass the exam and get accepted, he’d surprise her and take her out for a special celebration.

He was living in the small apartment above Bronn and Margaery’s garage and he couldn’t set foot out the door without being besieged by curious townsfolk and journalists. They wanted to see his damaged helmet, proof of the bullet that should have killed him but had merely grazed his scalp. They wanted to hear about the attack on the convoy, and how he had risked his life to rescue the child. Over the course of two days, the media had been unrelenting in their siege of him, wanting to know every detail of his experience in Meereen.

What they didn’t want to hear, and what Sandor wasn’t about to tell them, was how vulnerable he’d felt since he’d come home. He felt naked each time he went out in public without his weapon. Twice while driving, when other cars had come too close to his, he’d had to exercise every bit of physical restraint he possessed to not ram their vehicles. These weren’t insurgents with improvised explosive devices; they were just distracted drivers.

He wondered if the media would hail him as a hero if they knew he spent most of his nights standing at the window, scanning the surrounding trees for signs of the enemy, a habit he couldn’t seem to break. He’d wanted to come home so badly this time, so why did he feel so out of place?

He just wanted to spend some quality time with Sansa. When he’d finally managed to reach her by phone, she’d sounded so prim and polite that he’d kept the conversation short. He didn’t blame her for being annoyed with him. He’d been home for more than two days and hadn’t called her; he knew women hated that shit. He’d make it up to her.

As they drove toward Fort Florian in his pickup truck, he couldn’t help but steal glances at her beside him in the passenger seat. She’d pulled her flaming red hair into a loose braid over her shoulder, and tendrils escaped to tease her neck and cheeks. Looking over at him, she intercepted his gaze, and he watched as the tips of her ears turned pink.

“Sorry,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I can’t stop looking at you.”

“Keep your eyes on the road, big guy,” she chided, but smiled back at him, clearly pleased. “So how does it feel to be home? I mean, really home?”

“Strange, actually. I haven’t lived out of barracks in a long time. I’m having trouble sleeping.”

“Maybe that’s just the time change,” Sansa suggested. “Or the fact that you’re not in your usual bed.”

“You mean a hole dug into the dirt?” Sandor glanced at her, wondering how much he should reveal. “I’ve been having nightmares.”

“Considering what you’ve been through, that doesn’t surprise me. Do you want to talk about them?” she asked quietly.

Sandor’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. Did he want to talk about them? Fuck, no. But maybe if he told her about the nightmares, the horror of them would fade a little bit.

“I’m back in Meereen,” he finally said, “in the middle of that gunfight, and this time I don’t make it to the little girl in time.”

Reaching across the seat, Sansa covered his hand with hers. “But you did make it in time, Sandor, and you saved her. I’m sure your nightmares are normal, considering what you’ve been through. You survived a traumatic event. Now you just need to let yourself recover.”

Sandor gave her a rueful smile. “You sound just like the shrink at Camp Lemonwood.”

“You can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?” Her eyes were concerned and earnest. “Anything, Sandor. I’m not squeamish, and I would never make any judgments about what you did. What you had to do.”

Sandor felt something shift in his chest, and he squeezed her fingers. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“I know you’re good.” She smiled. “But I just want you to know that I’m here if you need me.”

He nodded. “I do know, and it means a lot to me.”

“The news reports said you had more than eighty confirmed…hits,” she said quietly. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you, Sandor, knowing that every time you went out, it was a life-or-death situation.”

Sandor squinted hard at the road. Aside from his mandatory sessions with the military shrink, he’d never talked to anyone about what he did in Meereen. He didn’t miss the way Sansa  _ had _ hesitated before calling his confirmed kills  _ hits _ .

“The number of kills a sniper gets doesn’t really matter,” Sandor finally said. “It’s not a game to see who can get the most kills. Like you said, it’s a life-or-death situation. You have to be able to think on your feet, weigh the different possibilities for a given situation and execute the best choice.”

“I know that whatever decisions you made, they were the right ones,” Sansa said with conviction.

Glancing over at her, Sandor realized that she was being completely sincere. She wasn’t just saying what she thought he wanted to hear. Her unconditional support was just one of the things about her that had captured his heart. He’d had a couple girlfriends who were able to look past the scars on his face but couldn’t get past what he did for the military and who had been unwilling to commit for the long haul. Then there were the women who had only been interested in him because he was a sniper—groupies who got some kind of twisted thrill out of being with a guy they thought was dangerous...and looking dangerous only sweetened the deal.

Then there was Sansa. Sweet, sincere and oh, so sexy. He found everything about her irresistible. More importantly, he felt good when he was with her. Good about them as a couple, good about himself as a person. She made him feel whole and unblemished. She deserved to know the truth about his decision to leave the military.

“I was a sniper for six years,” he finally said. “But I’m not getting out of the military because I had a problem shooting insurgents.” He caught her gaze for a long second. I’m getting out because I had no problem—none whatsoever—in taking them out.”

He saw the alarm that flared briefly in her beautiful blue eyes, and dragged his attention back to the road, not wanting to see the dawning revulsion in her expression. He jumped a little when she leaned over and pressed her face to his shoulder.

“Oh, Sandor,” she said, her voice muffled against his arm. “Pull the truck over, please.”

Grimacing, Sandor hauled the vehicle over to the breakdown lane and thrust it into Park. He held both hands on the steering wheel while Sansa sniffled against his shoulder.

Finally, she lifted her head. Catching his jaw in her hand, she forced him to look at her. What he saw in her face nearly undid him. There was no disgust or horror reflected there, only compassion and an understanding that caused his chest to constrict. Her beautiful blue eyes were moist, and he realized with a sense of wonder that she was crying for him.

“Sandor, you’re a professional soldier,” she said firmly. “But that doesn’t mean you’re a cold-blooded killer. I don’t believe for a moment that you enjoy killing people. You did what you had to do.” She stroked his jaw with her thumb. “But those days are behind you now. You served with honor and distinction and you have every reason to be proud of the service you provided. I know I’m proud of you.”

“Sansa.” Her name came out on a half laugh, half groan, and then his arms were around her. He pulled her fully across the seat and buried his face in her neck, breathing in her clean, sweet scent. She responded by winding her arms around him and hugging him tight, even as she pressed warm kisses against his neck and ear.

“I think you’re an amazing man,” she whispered, and then she found his mouth with her own, kissing him fervently.

Sandor groaned and slanted his lips hard across hers, wanting to absorb her, wanting to make her a part of himself. She made a small murmur of pleasure and shifted closer, and Sandor deepened the kiss. He slid his tongue against hers and explored the sweet recesses of her mouth, aware that he was rock hard and throbbing with need. He found her breast with one hand and gently kneaded the firm flesh, loving how her nipple beaded against his palm.

“Oh, Hells,” he breathed against her mouth, “everything about you turns me on. I think about you all the time, and I’ve been dying to be with you again.”

“Me, too,” Sansa whispered, and arched against his hand. “I’ve been thinking, too, that maybe you’d sleep better if you had company at night.”

Sandor laughed softly. “I’m not sure a sleepover is a good idea. Bronn and Margaery can’t keep their hands off each other and keep the neighbors awake as it is. They won’t come up for air for a couple weeks, yet. And you know I can’t keep my hands off you. Pretty sure the neighbors would riot.”

“What if you moved in with me?”

Sandor stilled. Slowly, he pulled back and searched Sansa’s face. She chewed her lower lip, and he saw the apprehension in her eyes.

“You’re asking me to move in with you?” he repeated lamely.

“Well, only if you want to. I know it’s fast, but I have the room. I’ll have to get a bigger television...and a more comfortable couch,” she rambled on. “Oh Sandor, I have a confession to make. I hope you can cook, because I can’t. I paid one of the other teachers to bake all those homemade treats for you. I’m so sorry, I—”

“You catfished my cookies?!” He laughed heartily. “It wasn’t cookies that made me look forward to your care packages...well, not entirely.” He couldn’t prevent the smile that tugged at his mouth. “Do you think it would make things awkward with your parents?”

“Would it be awkward for you?” she countered. “Because I honestly don’t think they would have a problem with it. We’re both adults and they’ll know soon enough how I feel about you.”

“And how do you feel?” he asked, sliding his palm along the fragile line of her jaw.

“I really like you, Sandor.” She smiled at him. “This feels right. Maybe we’re moving too fast, but I feel as if I’ve known you forever, and I’d really like you to move in with me.”

““I’d really like that, too,” he said softly.

To his surprise, he realized it was the truth. He liked the thought of living with Sansa. He imagined what it would be like to take her to bed every night and wake up with her in his arms each morning. Then he remembered that if he was accepted into the state police academy, he’d be required to live on campus, at least during the week, for six months of recruit training. He didn’t want to reveal that bit of information to Sansa. Not yet. Not until it was a sure thing.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he assured her. “It’s just that I can’t really commit to moving in with you just yet. I want to, I really do, but I have a few things that I need to sort out first, okay?”

“Okay.” She nodded, but Sandor didn’t miss the quick flare of disappointment in her eyes, quickly hidden by a smile. “The offer is open, so whenever you’re ready, just let me know.”

Sandor kissed her once more before putting the truck into gear and pulling back out onto the highway. His thoughts were consumed with her offer, and what it would mean. He’d be committed to her, and the thought scared the hell out of him as much as it thrilled him.

He was quiet for the rest of the drive, although Sansa didn’t seem to notice. She kept up a steady flow of conversation, keeping it light. He enjoyed listening to her talk about everything from her job to spending summers on Crackclaw Point with her family. He could easily envision her as a skinny little redheaded child, running wild on the beach. Unbidden, he had a sudden image of what their own little girl might look like running across the sand. Almost immediately, he did a mental recoil.

Where the hell had  _ that _ come from?

Sure, Sansa was smart and sexy and gorgeous, and they’d just talked about moving in together, but no way were they ready to make a lifetime commitment to each other. Were they?

When they arrived at Fort Florian a long line of cars was waiting to gain access to the fairgrounds. Sandor reached over and covered Sansa’s hand with his. Her startled glance flew first to their linked fingers and then to his face.

“Thanks again for coming,” he said. “This means a lot to me.”

She gave him a wide smile. “Then I’m glad I came.”

“Me, too. I think you’ll like my buddies, but if they get a little rowdy or say anything inappropriate, just let me know.”

Sansa arched an eyebrow. “You forget—I teach little monsters.” Her smile widened. “Bring ’em on.”

Several hours later, Sansa collapsed gratefully onto a picnic-table bench, thankful for the overhead canopy that provided some relief from the sun. She dropped several stuffed animals onto the table, along with a bag of kettle corn and the remnants of her cotton candy. After two turns on the Tilt-a-Whirl, her stomach felt a little queasy, and the hotdog she’d enjoyed an hour earlier now sat like a stone in the pit of her stomach.

“You stay here, I’ll grab you a bottle of water. Unless you’d prefer a beer?”

Sansa looked up at the young man who hovered over her. “Water sounds great,” she assured him. She watched as he walked away, acknowledging that young, hard-bodied marines really weren’t all that different from her students.

She was exhausted.

She’d spent the entire afternoon exploring the fair in the company of two of Sandor’s Marine Corps buddies. Almost as soon as they’d arrived at the tent where his friends were grilling burgers and hot dogs, Sandor had been pulled aside by the base commander and asked to provide an interview and photographs for the local media. She had seen the irritation that had flashed briefly in his eyes. He’d wanted to say no. She had wanted him to say no, too, but understood that wasn’t an option.

Her two escorts, Pod and Trystane, had taken their job seriously when Sandor had told them to make sure she had a good time. They’d dragged her onto every ride, had tried to win a prize for her at every midway game, and had stuffed her so full of food that she was afraid she might actually burst. Their energy and enthusiasm had been both contagious and unflagging.

From her seat at the picnic table, she could see that Sandor was immersed—quite literally—in the fundraiser. The marines had set up a dunk tank, and a steady stream of fairgoers stood in line to try their luck at dropping Sandor into the tank of water below his collapsible seat. The sign over the dunk tank read Dunk a Westerosi Warrior! Pod had explained to her that Westerosi Warriors was the name of a nonprofit group that raised money to support injured soldiers and their families.

Sandor wore nothing but a pair of dog-print swim shorts, and Sansa didn’t have to wonder why the customers were mostly female. She knew he was self-conscious of his scars, but the women were too distracted with his broad, muscular chest and strong arms to notice. There were groups of giggling teenage girls who had no sooner taken their turn than they hurried to the end of the line to try again, willing to spend all their money on this one attraction. Then there were the older college-age girls who flirted outrageously with Sandor as they tried unsuccessfully to dunk him.

Sansa watched as several women strolled by with their husbands or boyfriends, only to stop when they got a glimpse of Sandor sitting bare-chested on the chair over the water tank. It was these men who, in a show of friendly rivalry, accepted the challenge and with a well-aimed throw at the target, knocked Sandor into the water. This only attracted more women to the dunk tank, because watching Sandor come up from the water, solid and muscular and dripping with water, was a glorious sight.

Nearby, Sandor’s buddies were selling grilled hamburgers, hot dogs and sausages. They shouted encouragement to the girls who tried to dunk Sandor, and made several crude jokes about him having survived a bullet to the head. They’d leered at Sansa in a friendly way, had joked with her and tried to persuade her to take a turn in the dunk tank. They were as rowdy as Sandor had warned, but Sansa found herself liking them...well, most of them. 

And then there were the two she didn’t like, Lance Corporal Meryl Trant and Lieutenant Joffrey Baratheon...both swaggering toward her wearing matching skeevy smiles. 

Sansa turned to see that Pod had returned, carrying a bottle of water and a beer, both of which were grabbed from his hands by Baratheon. Joffrey twisted the cap from the water and set it down in front of her as he slowly looked her up and down. “Cold water, my lady? You look….. hot.” 

Sansa shivered, despite the heat, wishing she’d worn something that covered her better, as Meryn sat across from her. “Sure you don’t want a turn in the dunk tank? You could do your part to support the troops.” Meryn teased, speaking to her breasts.

“No, thanks.” Sansa answered, preparing to stand.

Joffrey threw a leg over the picnic-table bench and sat down, straddling it, uncomfortably close, trapping her in place. “So you’re the dog’s little penpal? Is this the first time you’ve actually met him? I mean, he’s only been home for…what, four or five days?” He took a swig of the beer and considered her.

“I met him last week in Dorne, after he got back from Meereen. We spent some time together then.” Sansa knew she was blushing, but couldn’t prevent the heat that seeped into her skin as she recalled what they had shared during that weekend.

“No shit.” Joffrey looked amused. “A real live beauty and the beast,” He cackled. “You usually only read about that kind of stuff in porn mags. You know…‘Dear Penthouse, I never thought this would happen to me….’” Seeing the expression on Sansa’s face, he giggled loudly.

“The dog’s never been one to turn down a bone thrown his way, you know? But his relationships never seem to last.”

_ His relationships never seem to last. _

Try as she might, she couldn’t get past those words.

She picked at the label on her water bottle and tried to act casual, as if she weren’t seething with jealousy at the very thought of Sandor with another woman. 

“I was surprised to hear he’s getting out. He’s an adrenaline junkie—the more dangerous the situation the better he likes it.” Joffrey continued. “He’s the kind of guy who thrives in the military.”

Sansa’s gaze slid beyond Joffrey, to where Sandor had just been dropped into the water. As he came to the surface, sun glistened off his wet body, emphasizing his sleek muscles. He laughed and traded gibes with the young woman who had managed to hit the target and send him into the dunk tank.

“Maybe that was true once,” she finally said, “but he seems pretty happy with his decision to get out of the military.”

Joffrey laughed scornfully. “Maybe. We’ll see. Personally, I don’t think he’s cut out for civilian life...the whole wife, 2.5 kids and the white picket fence thing. The Marine Corps is all he knows. Besides, there aren’t too many employers looking for people with his particular specialty.” He shook his head with a smirk. “I give him a month before he’s had enough and decides to reenlist. What do you think, Meryn?”

“I heard the commanding officer’s been campaigning pretty hard for him to come back.” 

Sansa felt her chest constrict at their words. She didn’t want to think about Sandor returning to active duty. She didn’t believe he wanted to return, either, not after what he’d told her about his reasons for leaving. She understood that he operated on a strict code of values and serving his country was something he felt compelled to do. But his job had begun to affect him in a way that wasn’t good, and she gave him credit for recognizing that fact. She didn’t want him to return to active duty, but acknowledged that her reasons were purely selfish. She already thought of him as hers. The last thing she wanted was for him to return to Meereen.

“He’s not going back” she finally said. Even she could hear the lack of conviction in her words.

“I overheard him telling the base commander that he has a meeting tomorrow to talk about his options. I’m pretty sure I heard him say that he might be gone for six months.” He gave Sansa a look dripping with false sympathy.

Sansa didn’t look at him, afraid he might see how much his words affected her. For the nearly eighteen months that she’d corresponded with Sandor, he’d insisted that he couldn’t wait to get home, to get out of the military and begin life as a civilian. Not once, even as his discharge date drew near, did he ever suggest he might change his mind about that. Part of her had wanted to believe that she had something to do with his decision. Now she couldn’t help but wonder just what place she held in Sandor’s future.

“Then you misunderstood,” she said angrily. “Sandor hasn’t given any indication that he intends to reenlist. In fact, he told me he has plans.”

Even if he wasn’t willing to share them with her. What had he said? I have some plans. Nothing definite yet, but I’m working on it. No matter what Joffrey had heard, Sansa couldn’t believe Sandor’s plans involved going back to Meereen.

“Maybe it has to do with the job he was offered in King’s Landing,” Joffrey mused.

Sansa frowned. “What job offer?”

“Oh my. He hasn’t told you about it and now I’ve gone and shot my mouth off,” Joffrey said gleefully.

“What job offer?” Sansa repeated.

A shadow fell across the table between them. “I’ve been invited to go to King’s Landing to interview for a job as a sniper instructor.”

Startled, Sansa looked up to see Sandor standing beside them, toweling himself. Her mouth went dry at the sight of his supremely muscled physique, and she couldn’t help but stare at the strip of pale skin on his abdomen, where his swim trunks had slipped down a bit, revealing his tattoo. She swallowed hard.

“That’s great,” she replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. Inwardly, she felt hurt that Sandor hadn’t shared this information with her. They’d shared everything through their letters—their thoughts, their feelings, their experiences… Sansa had really believed they kept no secrets from each other. He wasn’t obligated to tell her about everything going on in his life, but the knowledge that he hadn’t shared this news with her felt like a betrayal. If he moved to King’s Landing, where would that leave her?

Joffrey and Meryn stood and turned toward Sandor. “So, dog, how did you manage to catch this little groupie?”

“Move the fuck on, you little cunt!” Sandor snarled.

“You can’t talk to me that way! I’m an officer and I outrank you! So, that’s SER, to you.” Joffrey shrieked at Sandor. “You can call me ser or lieutenant or LT Baratheon.”

Sandor rolled his eyes and swore as he straightened to his full intimidating height and stepped closer, forcing Joffrey to either stand toe-to-toe with him or back up. Joffrey backed up, flushed and visibly swallowed. “You only  _ technically _ outrank me,” Sandor growled menacingly, “and only because your granddaddy’s an admiral and he paid someone a lot of money to get your scrawny ass into the Citadel. There’s no other commissioning source on this fucking planet that would have made  _ you _ an officer otherwise. So fuck your sers and fuck you!”

“Good luck with the dog.” He said spitefully, then the two men turned and walked away.

“I’ll just go change, and then we can leave,” he said, and Sansa watched as he turned and walked awkwardly toward the restrooms.

She looked to where the other men were grilling burgers and hot dogs. She still couldn’t understand why he hadn’t told her about the offer. Was it that he didn’t trust her? Or maybe she was making more out of it than necessary. 

What if Joffrey was right? What if Sandor really was an adrenaline junkie, who only thrived on danger and excitement? He wouldn’t stick around in Maidenpool. And when he finally left for bigger and better things, Sansa knew her life would never be the same.


	9. Not a communications expert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every successful relationship requires love, honesty, trust and communication.

_Dear Sansa,_

_Thank you for the nameday gifts! I did as you commanded and got all the guys together and shared the nameday brownies. I hid the rest of the snacks, though. The battery operated fan has already been put to use. We all passed around the cards from the kids and had a good laugh. My favorite one was from Megan “I love you. Please don’t die.” Right to the point 😆_

_But, the very best gift was the video on the dvd. Seeing you and the kids singing happy nameday to me...it just tore me up inside. I’m glad I waited to watch that when I was alone, or I wouldn’t be able to face the guys again! If I thought you were beautiful in pictures, it’s nothing compared to your beauty in motion. Like a beautiful little bird, flitting around. That was the best nameday I ever had. The only one, really._

_It made me think about what I’m missing out on. I’ve been thinking a lot about making this my last deployment. There’s only so many times a man can successfully dodge a bullet. It didn’t used to matter to me...whether I lived or died. But now, with your friendship, I find myself thinking that I have something to live for._

_Thanks again, little bird._

_Sandor_

_P.S. please give little Megan a hug from me._

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

Sansa was uncharacteristically quiet during the ride home, and Sandor found he missed her easy conversation. Instead, she gazed out the window at the darkening landscape, and every so often a frown would furrow her smooth brow.

“Hey,” he finally said, covering her hand with his own. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just tired.” She gave him a swift, apologetic smile, but Sandor wasn’t buying it.

Sandor brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against her palm. “I’m sorry I abandoned you today. I had no idea that the base commander had arranged a media interview, and I definitely hadn’t planned to spend so much time in the dunk tank.”

Sansa pulled her hand free and curled it into a ball on her lap. “I guess that’s the price of being a hero,” she said, but her voice was overly bright.

“Listen,” he rasped, frustrated. “I already told you I’m no hero. I’m just a regular guy.” He watched as Sansa bent her head and picked at some imaginary thread on her shorts. She didn’t believe him. “Sansa. I didn’t ask for this—this media circus, okay? I’d rather spend my time with you.”

She did look at him then, and when she spoke, her voice held an unmistakable challenge. “Fine. Stay with me tonight at my place. Tomorrow morning, let’s get up early and drive along the coast, just the two of us. We can even check into some cute little B and B for the night instead of driving back.”

They’d reached her street, and Sandor pulled up in front of her town house and shut the engine off, turning in his seat to face her. Outside, he could hear the distant pounding of the surf. He didn’t know what was going on, but he already sensed it wasn’t going to go well for him.

“Little bird…I’d love to do that, I would. But tomorrow’s not good for me. How about midweek, or the weekend after next?”

“Sandor…”

She looked quickly away, and he could have sworn she blinked back tears. Then she turned to him and her expression was composed. But even in the dim light, he could see her agitation.

“Come here,” he commanded gruffly, and reached for her, but she put her hands up to hold him off.

“Sandor, I know where you’re going tomorrow.”

His hands fell and he sat back, stunned. He hadn’t told a soul about his plans. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know, in case things didn’t work out. Nothing worse than looking like a failure when the entire community—including the girl you were totally crazy for—believed you were a hero.

“How did you find out?”

She dropped her gaze to where her hands were clasped on her lap. “Joffrey told me. He overheard you talking to the base commander.”

“That miserable little dick!” Sandor was floored.

He _had_ told the base commander about his hope to enter the Riverlands Police Aademy. Tomorrow he would take the three-hour written exam and then meet with some of the academy staff officers for an interview and a tour of the facility. If things went the way he hoped they would, he’d enter the academy for six months of intensive training. His focus sharpened on Sansa. Was that what was bothering her? The separation during the recruit training?

“If this works out, I’d only be gone for six months,” he finally said.

“Only six months?” She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Listen to yourself!” She took a deep breath and leaned forward. “I’m not sure I can do this, Sandor. I’ve just found you. I’m not sure I can give you up for another six months.”

Sandor felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. “Listen, I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I wanted to tell you myself, but only after I knew for sure that I’d actually be going. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I want to do it. I need to do it. This is important to me, Sansa.”

_Important to us._

But he didn’t say the words aloud. If Sansa couldn’t support him in this, then there didn’t seem much point in continuing their relationship. Something in his chest clenched hard at the thought of letting her go, but he knew he’d have to. He’d had girlfriends before who hadn’t been able to support what he did for a living. He knew firsthand how that resentment could erode a relationship and turn it into something ugly. He didn’t ever want to reach that point with Sansa.

She blinked several times and swallowed hard, and he sensed she was close to tears. “I’d worry about you.”

He blew out a sharp breath of relief. If that was her only reason for not wanting him to become a trooper, he could put her fears to rest.

“You wouldn’t need to worry. I’d be perfectly safe.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? So the bullets wouldn’t be real? They’d be rubber bullets, or blanks?”

“Of course not.”

Sansa’s entire body seemed to sag. “That’s what I thought.” She turned blindly for the door handle. “Good night, Sandor.” What the—?

“ _Sansa_.” Leaning across her body, he caught the door handle, preventing her from opening it and effectively trapping her against the seat. “Talk to me, little bird, because whatever’s going on, I know we can fix this.”

She stared at him, and this time there was no mistaking the tears that swam in her eyes. “I understand why you want to do this, Sandor. Really, I do. I’m just not sure—” She broke off, her face twisting. “I need some time to think.”

He searched her eyes, and for the first time he could recall, he felt real fear. “Sansa…” he breathed, “don’t do this.”

“I’m not like you.” Her voice dropped so that he had to strain to hear her. “I’m not brave or strong. I’m a complete coward, and there’s a part of me that would rather say goodbye to you now than watch you get killed later on.”

“Little bird, I am not going to get killed.” He framed her face in his hands, searching her eyes. “Not when I’ve just found you.”

She nodded, but didn’t look at him. He understood that she was only barely holding it together.

“Okay,” he finally relented. “I get that you need some time. What are we talking about—a couple of days? Because I’m not sure I can be away from you for any longer than that.”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and Sandor found himself holding his breath.

“My family is having a Warrior’s Day get-together next weekend at their house on Crackclaw Point Beach,” she finally said. “Maybe you could come up with me?”

Now it was Sandor’s turn to hesitate.

“Forget it,” she said quickly. “It was a stupid idea.”

“No, no,” he protested. When she wouldn’t look at him, he caught her face in his hand. “It’s a great idea, and I’d love to meet your family. It’s just that—”

She pulled her face away, her voice resigned. “You already have plans.”

“Yeah…My unit’s been invited to march in the Warrior’s Day parade down in King’s Landing. I’m already committed to going,” he admitted. “In fact, I was going to ask you if you wanted to come with me and make a weekend out of it. This parade is the oldest Warrior’s Day parade in the country. It’s an honor to be invited.”

“Then you should go,” she said, but he could see her smile was forced.

“What’s going on, Sansa? This has nothing to do with my going to the parade, or even my being away for another six months.”

For a moment, he didn’t think she was going to answer. Then she looked at him, and he saw the sadness and regret in her eyes.

“Don’t get me wrong, Sandor. I’m happy for the opportunities you’ve been given, because I think you’re an amazing man and you deserve them. But I can’t help but wonder…”

“What? Can’t help but wonder what?”

She drew in a deep breath. “I can’t help but wonder what else you haven’t told me. I thought we had something special, yet you’re making all these plans that don’t include me, so what I am I supposed to think?”

He blew out a hard breath. “It’s not like that. We do have something special. _You’re_ special.” He made a sound of frustration. “I didn’t want to tell you about my plans in case they didn’t work out.”

Sansa shook her head. “That’s just it—if this is going to work then I need full disclosure. Up front. I shouldn’t have to find out about stuff after the fact. It’s not fair, Sandor.”

Sandor nodded. “Agreed. Now can we please put all this behind us and move on?” He dipped his head to look at her. “You suggested that I might sleep better if I had company. I’d really like to spend the night with you, Sansa.”

She bit her lip, and he could see the conflict on her face. “I need time alone, Sandor. I can’t think when you’re near, and I’m feeling really confused right now. I don’t know what I want.”

Sandor fell back. He knew that he could overcome her resistance and persuade her to invite him in. He was sure of her attraction to him. But he also respected her enough to let her have the time she needed.

“Okay, fine,” he said, and retreated to his side of the truck and placed his hands firmly on the steering wheel lest he be tempted to drag her into his arms. “Take whatever time you need. When you figure things out, let me know.”

He sensed her hesitation, and hoped like hell she would reconsider.

“I’ll give you a call,” she said quietly and, leaning across the console, she pressed a kiss against his scarred cheek. Sandor closed his eyes briefly at the sensation, and then watched as she climbed out of the vehicle and ran quickly up the steps to her front door.

Only after Sansa had disappeared inside did he acknowledge that there was one very important truth he hadn’t shared with her; he’d fallen for her—hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next post on Tuesday, then epilogue on Friday. Then it’s done!


	10. The Songbird and the Sergeant

Sansa leaned on the railing of her parents’ deck and gazed across the dunes to the beach, where her brothers and her father were heaping driftwood into a pile in preparation for an evening bonfire. Her nephews ran through the shallow surf, shrieking in delight as they chased each other with strands of seaweed. Lady, her parents’ ancient golden retriever, plodded along behind them with her tongue lolling out of her mouth. The sun had already sunk below the headland, streaking the sky with warm shades of pink. In a few more minutes, the beach would be completely dark except for the occasional bonfire. Farther down the stretch of sand, several couples strolled arm in arm.

Sansa sighed, feeling alone despite the fact she was surrounded by her entire family. Nearly a week had passed since she had last seen Sandor, and the time apart that she’d insisted was necessary in order for her to get her head together now felt like an enforced punishment. She missed him more than she would have thought possible, and spent most of her time thinking about him.

Several times, he’d tried to call her, but she hadn’t picked up. Many times, he’d texted, but she left them unread. Twice, he’d left her voicemail messages, asking her to call him back. Nothing about either of those messages had indicated he missed her, or that he even wanted to see her. His last message had actually scared her. His voice had been quietly grim as he’d said, “Little bird, we need to talk. There’s something I need to tell you. Call me.” She hadn’t.

She’d been too afraid of what he might say. She’d been too afraid that her insistence on having time to think had also provided him with the opportunity to think, and he’d come to the realization that he didn’t really want to be with her, after all. She’d told him she was a coward, and now she knew it was the truth. She’d rather avoid him than hear him tell her that he was returning to the Corps and that maybe it was better if they just called it quits.

“Hey, you okay?”

Sansa turned to see her mother, Catelyn, standing beside her, and forced a smile.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

Cat shrugged. “You just seem a little down.”

Sansa gave a rueful laugh and turned to stare blindly at the sea. “No wonder. I’m quite possibly the stupidest woman on the face of the planet.”

Cat pressed a drink into Sansa’s hand. “Does this have something to do with your marine? You said you were going to ask him to join us this weekend. I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t.”

“Actually, I did invite him but he had something else going on,” Sansa replied, and took a sip of the drink.

“Oh. But you’ll see him again?”

Sansa turned to face her mother. “I’m not all that sure he wants to see me again. I found out he’s reenlisting, and it totally freaked me out. I, um, overreacted.”

“Oh, Sansa…”

“I all but gave him an ultimatum, Mom. Me or the military.” She gave a bitter laugh. “He’s been trying to call me, but I’ve been too afraid to talk to him.”

“You really like this man?”

Something broke free in Sansa’s chest, something she’d desperately tried to hold in check since the day of the fair, when Joffrey had told her that not only did Sandor have a poor track record with relationships, but that he’d almost certainly leave her to go back to the military.

“I more than like him, Mom.” Her voice broke. “I’m crazy about him, and I think I may have made the biggest mistake of my life in pushing him away.”

“Oh, sweetie…” Cat put her arms around Sansa and drew her close, rubbing her back the way she had when comforting her as a child. “Maybe you should just call him. I’m sure this can still be worked out.”

Sansa pulled away, sniffling. “I wish I could be so certain. I told him it would be easier to let him go now than to see him get killed later on.” She swiped a hand across her eyes. “How stupid was that? Here I am, letting my own selfishness get in the way of spending time with him.”

Cat considered her through compassionate eyes. “Would you want to be with him, even knowing he would eventually return to Essos? Even knowing he might not come home?”

“ _ Yes _ .” Sansa’s voice was fierce. “I realize now that determination to go back, in spite of what he’s been through, is just one of the reasons why I love him so much.”

There was a moment of heavy silence as they both absorbed what Sansa had just said. Reaching out, Cat removed the drink from Sansa’s hand and took a long swallow.

“I think you need to call him,” she said, gesturing with the glass. “Today.”

Sansa nodded. “I will. I’m just going to take a walk to clear my head, and figure out what I’m going to say to him.”

“Just be honest,” Cat said. “Tell him how you feel about him.”

Sansa made her way down to the steps, aware of her mother’s eyes on her. “And don’t be gone too long,” her Mom called. “The boys will be lighting the bonfire soon, and the fireworks start in half an hour!”

Waving her hand in acknowledgment, Sansa followed the path through the dunes to the beach, grateful that her nephews didn’t notice her. As much as she enjoyed their energetic company, right now she’d rather be alone. She’d spent her childhood summers on this beach, and now she made her way to one of her favorite spots, a secluded section of dunes where she could sit and watch the waves but couldn’t easily be seen by anyone in the nearby houses.

She sat down, looping her arms around her knees. What was Sandor doing at this exact moment? Had he decided to stay in King’s Landing for the day or had he returned to Maidenpool to celebrate Warrior’s Day with his buddies? Had he missed her during the past week? Or had he already moved on with his life? Was that why he’d left her the voice-mail messages, saying they needed to talk?

She groaned and dropped her forehead onto her knees, mentally kicking herself. She should have gone to King’s Landing with him and watched him march in the parade. She should have reserved a room at some romantic little bed-and-breakfast and made it a weekend that he wouldn’t ever forget. Instead, they were hundreds of miles apart. Again.

Pop-pop-pop! Farther down the beach, a group of teens began shooting off some small fireworks, and the noise reverberated across the water. Sansa raised her head to watch, then a movement from the opposite direction caught her attention.

A lone figure made his way along the beach, and Sansa felt her heart stutter in her chest. Slowly, she pushed to her feet. She could just make out the large deck on the beachhouse, her parents stood there in each other’s arms, flanked by the rest of her family, watching the man as he walked toward her.

It was Sandor, but she scarcely recognized him in his marine dress blues. He looked bigger than she remembered, and heart stoppingly handsome in uniform. His white hat and belt stood out starkly in the deepening gloom, and, as he drew closer, she saw a vibrant display of multicolored ribbons and medals on the breast of his dark blue jacket. He took her breath away.

She stood, unmoving, as he climbed the short distance to where she stood at the top of the dunes. His face was set, his expression inscrutable.

“Sandor…” she breathed. “How—why—? I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I had to come,” he said simply. “You didn’t answer my calls, didn’t return my messages, and there’s something that I need to tell you.”

“How did you find me?”

A smile lifted one corner of his mouth, and Sansa felt something in her chest shift. “You told me your parents’ house was on Crackclaw Point Beach. Wasn’t too difficult to find.”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat, feeling oddly breathless. “Did you, um, march in the parade today?”

“I did. Then I got in my truck and drove more than five hours to get here.”

He hadn’t even taken the time to change out of his uniform. Sansa searched his face, seeing the evidence of strain etched around his mouth and eyes. His jaw was set, and he had the posture of a man prepared to do battle.

She gestured toward his uniform. “You look amazing.”

He didn’t acknowledge her words, but took a step toward her. “I received these in the mail the other day.”

Sansa blanched as he pulled two envelopes from his jacket. Even in the indistinct light, she recognized the writing on the outside. They were the letters she’d sent to him after their week in Dorne. Recalling exactly what she’d written in those letters, she felt heat wash into her face.

“Sandor, I wrote those words right after our week together. I was feeling lonely and—and sentimental.”

“So what you wrote in these letters no longer holds true? You no longer think about me all the time, or replay everything we did together that week? You don’t miss me at night and wish you could wake up in my arms?”

Sansa couldn’t lie, so she kept silent. The truth was, she did think about him constantly and more than anything, she wanted a replay of that amazing week.

“Why didn’t you call me, little bird?”

She looked away, blinking. What had her mother said?  _ Just be honest.  _ She drew a deep breath. “I was afraid.”

“Of what? Fuck...what do you have to be afraid of?”

“I was afraid you were calling to tell me that you didn’t want to see me again.”

“ _ What? _ ”

Hearing the astonished disbelief in his voice, Sansa sharpened her gaze on him. “That’s not why you were calling?”

“Absolutely not. Although, I figured that’s why you weren’t returning my calls—because you’d decided you were no longer interested in me. But then I had these incredible letters, which completely contradicted your behavior. So I decided that if you’d changed your mind about me, I needed to hear it from you. Which is why I’ve come up here.”

Sansa put a hand to her chest, feeling the frantic racing of her heart. “Wait—you came all the way up here so that I could break up with you?”

“No. I came all the way up here to change your mind about ditching me.” Stepping closer, he closed his hands around her arms, pulling her closer. “I came up here to tell you that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I’ll fight for you...for us, if I have to. I want you to give us a chance.” He dipped his head to look into her eyes. “In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m crazy about you.”

Sansa struggled to make sense of his words. “But you’re reenlisting,” she argued weakly. “I won’t see you for 6 months, and I’ll be sick with worry that you’ll be shot again, or worse. Do you know how terrifying it was to have to wait to find out if you were dead?”

Sandor was looking at her oddly. “What? Who said anything about going back into the military?”

“Sandor…don’t tease me. Joffrey told me you were going to reenlist, and you told me yourself that you’ll be gone for 6 months.”

To her astonishment, Sandor began to laugh.

“I’m going to the regional police academy, Sansa, not the military. I took the entrance exam and I was accepted as a cadet trooper. I’ll train for six months beginning in the fall, but I’ll be home every weekend.”

Sansa couldn’t help herself; she sat abruptly down in the sand, struggling to absorb his words. Her whole body felt weak with reaction. Sandor was entering the police academy. He wasn’t reenlisting.

Sandor dropped down onto the sand beside her, removing his hat and tossing it into the nearby beach grass. He watched her intently. “You thought I was reenlisting?”

Sansa nodded mutely, searching his face in the indistinct light and seeing the dawning realization there. “I thought you’d be leaving, and that I’d have to go for another six months without knowing if you were safe, waiting for your letters or your phone calls...waiting for a knock on the door.”

Reaching out, Sandor hauled her against his body, his arms going around her and pulling her into his embrace. “No wonder you didn’t invite me in that night,” he said against her temple. “You probably thought I was a complete ass, coming home just long enough to fuck you before I headed out again.”

Sansa tipped her face up to look at Sandor, feeling a smile tug at her mouth. “Well, that did cross my mind. But you don’t know how many times I’ve regretted not inviting you in that night.”

Sandor slid his hand along her cheek, caressing her jaw. “Me, too,” he murmured, and then lowered his head to capture her lips in a kiss that was so devastatingly tender that Sansa felt tears prick behind her eyelids.

When he lowered her to the sand and followed her body with the length of his own, Sansa felt a familiar longing begin to build low in her belly. She wound her arms around his neck, arching against him, telling him without words how much she wanted him.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” Sandor breathed against her mouth. “I want to make love to you right here, right now.” He caught the hem of her sundress and dragged it upward, exposing her to the night air. His hand skimmed over her belly, caressing her skin.

Sansa moaned softly and twined a leg around his, urging him closer. “Yes, yes,” she whispered against his lips. “It’s dark, nobody would see us. Make love to me, Sandor.”

“I’ll take care of you,” he said hoarsely. Using his body to shield her from anyone who might venture too close, he slid a hand beneath the edge of her panties and explored her slippery cleft.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, circling his fingers over her. “I want to make you come. I’ve dreamt of doing this since that morning when I called you on the phone. Do you remember?”

The touch of his fingers against her slick flesh was an unbearable torment, and Sansa let her legs fall apart, pushing against his hand. “Yes,” she panted. “I remember.”

Then he eased a finger inside her and Sansa’s back arched off the ground. She clenched her teeth hard in order not to cry out with pleasure.

“That’s it,” Sandor growled in low approval, and slanted his mouth hard across hers, mating his tongue with her own as he worked magic with his hand. When he circled her clit with his thumb, and thrust with his fingers, Sansa’s reaction was immediate. Her body clamped down hard as a powerful orgasm crashed over her, shocking her with its swiftness. Brilliant lights flashed behind her closed eyelids and deafening noise filled her ears.

“Talk about perfect timing,” Sandor said, laughter in his voice. “That was fucking amazing.”

Sansa opened her eyes. Behind Sandor’s head, a dazzling display of fireworks lit up the night sky. Sandor smoothed her clothing into place before lying back on the sand and pulling her into his arms so that she lay cushioned on his chest.

Another burst of vibrant color shattered the darkness, but Sansa scarcely noticed; she was too busy watching Sandor’s face. “I love you, Sandor.”

He abruptly turned toward her and searched her face. “I love you, too, little bird...so much.” He gave her a soft, lingering kiss.

“I could take care of you, too,” she said softly, tracing a finger down his scarred cheek.

Sandor turned to look at her and even in the dim light, Sansa could see the heat that flared in his eyes. “I’d love that, but I’m going to need a little more privacy for what I have in mind.”

“You can spend the night at my parents’ house,” Sansa said. “There’s a guest room over the garage that nobody uses. I’ll put fresh sheets on the bed and open the windows, and it should be fine.”

“What about you? Where will you sleep?”

Sansa smiled and pressed closer to him, sliding one leg over his thighs. “I’ll bunk with my sister Arya, at least until she falls asleep.”

“And then?”

“And then I’m all yours.”

“I like the sound of that.” Sandor covered her mouth with his and kissed her until they were both breathless. He pulled away first. “So you’re okay with my going to the academy?”

Sansa gave a burst of laughter. “Are you kidding? I’m more than okay with it, Sandor. I’m thrilled. For you and for us. But I will miss you while you’re doing your six months of training.”

“You can always send me care packages,” he said, his voice rich with suggestion. “Maybe even get your teacher friend to send more of those lemon cookies. We’ll have the weekends to make up for lost time. And this time, there won’t be anything to distract me. No media blitzes, no parades. I’m done being a hero.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Sansa said. “You’ll always be my hero.”

Sandor smiled and braced himself on one elbow over her, smoothing her hair back from her face. “I definitely like the sound of that.”

Overhead, fireworks exploded in blooms of brilliant color, reflecting on the water and briefly illuminating their bodies, but, entwined together in the dunes, neither of them noticed.

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

_ Later that evening, long after everyone else had gone to bed, Sansa strummed her guitar and sang to him next to the dying bonfire. _

_ For you, there'll be no more crying _

_ For you, the sun will be shining _

_ And I feel that when I'm with you _

_ It's alright, I know it's right _

_ To you, I'll give the world _

_ To you, I'll never be cold _

_ ‘Cause I feel that when I'm with you _

_ It's alright, I know it's right _

_ And the songbirds are singing _

_ Like they know the score _

_ And I love you, I love you, I love you _

_ Like never before _

_ And I wish you all the love in the world _

_ But most of all, I wish it from myself _

_ And the songbirds keep singing _

_ Like they know the score _

_ And I love you, I love you, I love you _

_ Like never before _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songbird was written by Christine McVie of Fleetwood Mac. It’s a beautiful song, and worth a listen. :) All that’s left now is the epilogue.


	11. Home For Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As scary as it was to post the first chapter of this story, chapters 10 and 11 have been even more so. The fear of a disappointing ending is why some fics are abandoned, I’m sure. I sincerely hope that you all enjoy the story in its entirety.

_ Dear Sandor, _

_ I dreamt about you again last night. I dreamt that you were home and, more importantly, mine. I dreamt you wanted me, really wanted me, that you walked through my front door, our eyes locked, and a second later you were on me, taking me hard and fast against the door. You kissed me as though you needed my breath to breathe, you took my breasts into your mouth and suckled the peaks until I almost came. You slipped your wickedly talented fingers into my panties and I rubbed myself against you, satisfied…but not. Wanting more. Needing more…... _

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

Sandor dropped his duffel bag on the front porch to look for the right key. It had been six months since he’d seen her for more than 2 or 3 days at a time, though he’d gotten dozens of letters from her during that time. Letters that had made him laugh, made him smile, made him miss her all the more. Letters that had made him hard, letters that had inflamed him.

Sansa Stark filled a void in his life that Sandor had never been aware existed before that first ‘Dear Soldier’ letter. She completed him. Made him more. Made him want to be better.

More than anything, though, he just wanted to be with her. Period. And now, after two years of planning and training, it was time to come home for good.

He was still searching for the right key when he heard her approach the door, knew the exact instant her eye went to the peephole and discerned who was there.

She opened the door, her face glowing with pure joy.

Sandor’s gaze locked with hers. He showed her everything he had—the longing, the desire, the love. Bared it all.

He strode inside, purposely shut the door, then whirled her around and backed her up against it.

Then he kissed her.

Hard and deep, long and slow, he tangled his tongue around hers, giving her everything he had. She tasted so fucking sweet.

She came alive in his arms, feeding at his mouth, running her hands through his hair. She kneaded his shoulders and rubbed herself against him, just as mindless, just as desperate as he was.

She frantically pressed herself against him. Sandor groaned as she caught his face in her hands, covering his mouth in another heart stopping kiss. But when she would have reached between their bodies to touch him, he pushed her hands over her head and held them there. He didn’t know how long he could last if she touched him again.

He dipped his head and kissed one breast thru the thin fabric of her dress, then gently bit her nipple. Sansa gasped. He was somehow able to get his pants unbuttoned and pushed to his knees. Sandor smiled and slid his hand down her body and along the back of her thigh. He lifted her skirt and, finding that she was bare beneath it, pulled her leg higher, hooking it around his legs, opening her to him.

He slid his aching cock against her, feeling how warm and slick she was, and wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her heat.

“Sansa,” he rasped, “I thought I could go slow, but I’m not sure I can…”

“I don’t want you to go slow,” she said, pressing her hips toward his. “I want you inside me now.”

Sandor wanted the same thing, but his control was tenuous, at best, and he was afraid he’d lose it too soon. He eased himself into her, inch by excruciating inch, stretching and filling her, gritting his teeth against the overwhelming urge to thrust hard and deep and fast.

Fuck, he could hardly stand it.

“Gods, I love you,” he said thickly.

”I love you, too,” she whispered, and arched upward, gasping his name, clutching his back and urging him closer. “Now, please, fuck me!”

“Oh, yeah,” he groaned.

And then he was fully seated inside her, surrounded by her silky heat, and he could feel the walls of her sex gripping him. She began to rock against him. Sandor rested his cheek against hers and pushed deeper. Sansa made a strangled sound of pleasure and cried his name, and that’s all it took for Sandor to lose whatever restraint he had.

He thrust into her, harder, again and again, and the small sounds she made drove him over the edge, shattering his control, but it was okay because she was there, too, coming apart in his arms. His heart pounded like a jackhammer in his chest, and one coherent thought managed to surface in his lust-saturated brain.

The walls he’d built over his lifetime would never have been enough to protect his heart from this woman. They had crumbled to dust under her tender assault. He had never stood a chance.

“Welcome home, Sergeant Sexypants,” she giggled into his ear

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

Early the next morning, Sandor stirred when his little bird softly pecked him on the lips. “I’m going to make breakfast, my love,” she chirped quietly into his ear. Then he drifted back to sleep to visions of sleepy blue eyes and a soft smile.

His eyes snapped open when he heard a clatter. From the  _ kitchen _ . Sansa in the kitchen. No, no, no!

Galvanized, he rolled out of bed and pulled on his boxers, in one fluid movement. Sansa and kitchens was not a good combination. Sansa in the kitchen was a disaster in the making. The woman had no feel for cooking at all, but was interested in learning. Six months of lessons with Margaery and power-buying enough utensils, gadgets and gizmos to fill three junk drawers, as well as an entire library of cookbooks, had done little to improve her culinary skill.

He ran to the kitchen, then stopped in the doorway, enchanted, watching her moving around in the warm morning sunshine. True, she couldn’t cook. But then again, she was just so fucking lovely.

She had on one of his tees that hung nearly to her knees, billowing around her arms. She was barefoot, one pretty foot over the other as she concentrated on burning the toast. She was listening to a classic rock playlist and swaying that sweet ass to the music.

She was like a princess from some twisted fairytale come down from the heavens to burn his coffee and make scrambled eggs with bits of shell.

He hadn’t said a thing but she suddenly put down the wooden spoon she was using to push a stringy mass of eggs around the pan and turned.

The counter was a mess and the food smelled awful. But she smiled at him and his heart simply turned over in his chest.

Sansa.

Fuck it. He’d just have to pick up a second job to make enough money to hire a cook.

“Here.” Her proud smile was blinding. How the Hells was a man supposed to resist? She held out a mug. “I made us breakfast.”

“That’s nice, little bird.” He took the mug, trying not to gag at the smell of scorched coffee, and took a sip. It wasn’t so bad, if you didn’t mind the taste. At least it was hot.

“Sit,” she ordered, and placed a smoking pan on the kitchen table. Burnt toast followed on a plate. But she’d done the table up nicely. The table looked really pretty. It looked even better when Sansa sat down across from him. Sandor gamely scraped some black off his toast and buttered it, slathering it with jam to cover the charcoal taste.

Sansa was cheating. She was sipping a cup of tea—no way to burn tea—and delicately chopping the top off a soft-boiled egg. Sandor helped himself to the scrambled eggs, ignoring the shells. When he bit into one, he just swallowed without chewing. Hells, it was protein...and not  _ that _ much worse than the MREs he’d had to choke down in filthy foxholes half a world away. 

It was a gorgeous morning. The sun was rising and cast a soft red halo around Sansa’s head. A warm gentle breeze off the bay blew in from the open French door that gave out onto a little balcony. The sky was a glorious blue...almost as pretty as her eyes. He was happy. Life was good.

His training was completed. He would be starting orientation as a Riverlands Trooper in two weeks. He’d been accepted with open arms as one of the family by Ned and Cat. He had 3 new brothers and a pesky little sister. He had 3 little nephews whose favorite game was to ride on Uncle Sandy’s shoulders. And for the first time in his life, he had a real home. With a beautiful, loving woman by his side. “Come here, Sansa,” he rasped softly. He held out his hand to her while pushing away from the table so that she could straddle his lap.

Sandor felt an enormous sense of peace settle over him as she wriggled herself onto his lap. He smiled at Sansa and she smiled back. He watched her as he worked up the courage to ask the question that had been on his mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Sansa asked as she moved her hands to rub his shoulders.

Sandor froze. An opening. An opening he could drive his truck through..

He knew perfectly well he wasn’t the kind of man she had ever dated. On the face of it, they were a mismatch. He was an ugly roughneck marine vet, She was beautiful, graceful and classy.

Being with him wasn’t going to get her an entrée into high society, though arguably, as Eddard and Catelyn Stark’s daughter, she had that covered on her own.

What he could give her didn’t look like much on paper, but was very real and honest. Fidelity, devotion, unwavering support. And, presumably, at some time in the future, a little family of their own. He knew that was in their future, he just didn’t know when.

Sandor took in a deep breath.

“I don’t know about that,” he said, making an effort to keep his voice cool, casual. “I don’t believe in prenups, so when you charge me, you’ll basically be charging yourself. Doesn’t make much sense to me.”

Silence. Total, aching silence.

Sandor sneaked a glance at Sansa, refraining from wincing at the totally blank expression on her face.

Shit shit shit!

What the hells had possessed him to speak up now? Fucking Hells, why couldn’t he have waited? Now he’d said it and how could he—

Sansa narrowed her eyes. “Was that a marriage proposal I heard in there?”

He didn’t have the courage to do anything but stare.

“Well, was it?”

Mouth dry, he nodded.

“Because if it was,” she continued, aggrieved, “it was definitely the most half-assed, unromantic proposal I’ve ever heard of, Sandor Clegane.”

He grimaced and nodded. Yes, yes, it was.

“Sorry.” He cleared his tight throat. “You’re right. I don’t have the pretty words you deserve, little bird. I don’t know what I was—“

“However,” she said, talking right over him, “I’ll cut you some slack since you did eat every bite of your breakfast. That earns you points. And you love me.”

“More than anything in the world,” he said firmly and waited. And waited. She simply looked at him, a thoughtful expression on her face.

Fuck. She was going to say no.

Well, Hells. How could he expect anything else? He knew himself and he knew what he wanted and he wanted her, no question. He had no doubts at all, but what about her? She was a beautiful woman. She’d probably had men falling balls-deep in love within five minutes of meeting her since she’d hit puberty. She’d be crazy to trust someone like him, put her life in his hands.

She came from a solid, loving family. He was as far from that as it was possible to be and still grow up on the same planet. How could she trust him to—

“It’s a very good thing that you’re not going to be making any marriage proposals after this one, because you suck at it. However, the answer is yes.”

“I know I’m not what you deserve, but I swear, you can count on me forever. I’ll take care of you. No one will ever hurt you. I promise you I’ll be true, and—”

“Sandor,” she sighed. “I said yes.”

His brain seized up, simply froze. He stopped breathing for a moment. “Yes?” he echoed blankly. He couldn’t possibly have heard right.

Sansa’s eyes rolled and she pulled his head to her for a lusty kiss. “Yes!”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
